


Atonement

by Mthaelly



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Also if you like one-shot fics also ALSO do not read this, Author does not update consistently, Author is an angst slut, Author regrets nothing, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Choo Choo!, Fix-It of Sorts, Heavy Angst, Hey, How Do I Tag, Instead of writing my fic im editing in tags for fun, Intersex Loki (Marvel), It's a bit sad at the begining bit it's gets better, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Like..if you like fluff DO not read this, M/M, Mpreg, Only a teeny bit at the beginning though, Post Mpreg, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Rape/Non-con Elements, Temporary Character Death, They need to just hug and fuck, seriously though, some mentions mabye at later chapters, the tags are really fun to play with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mthaelly/pseuds/Mthaelly
Summary: Thor never gives Loki that hug. Weeks later, their relationship fractures and splinters when Thanos arrives. Loki dies, but not really.Both must find atonement in the aftermath.Thor must acknowledge his mistakes and forgive himself for it, to atone for his own guilt and Loki's death.And Loki? Loki must atone by raising their children, in the absence of their father. He must learn to love, as Thor once did for him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, so theres a scene where Im not sure counts for non consensual sex or not. So if you're flipped off by it dun read it.
> 
>  
> 
> But for those who aren't, here we go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for the non consensual scene, it's starts at: 
> 
> Thor grabs and kisses him. 
> 
> And ends at:
> 
> When he wakes, he finds himself alone.

 []

_Take my loves,my love, yea,take them all;_

_What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?_

-XL  
  
  
  
  
  


Thor is changed.

The lines across the once and still fair Prince's forehead creases when his golden eyebrows lifts and curves in comtiplation , when he gazes at the bottle stopper in his palms. His hair, once so flowing and shining like the golden spirals of their home turned dust, is gone. A darkish, brown with a dusting of golden stardust in its wake. His one blue eye remains, shining and hiding his thoughts so well that Loki would not have thought it possible of him, even a meagre decade ago. For what is a ten, a hundred or a thousand years to gods?

Apparently, too much, Loki thinks. Yet too little.

Loki fumbles and catches his lips between his teeth. He feels nervous, awkward. Frustrated? He can't read him, not Thor's eyes or his sculpted stance, set like stone in front of him. A different man all together, one that has out tricked the God of Mischief himself; one that has rendered his silver tongue useless.

Loki finds that ten years can be quite long indeed.

" I'm..well...still here." His meek tone twists his fragile pride. His pride. Once he had stubbornly clung to its illusion in spite.

Thor gives no answer. Gazes at him only, arms neither outstretched or moving to make good on his promise earlier. Loki feels himself start to crumble, his carefree mask slipping away in the presence of indifference. Thor's eyes feels cold and Loki feels himself wither under his intense scrutiny.

I'm being assessed aren't I ?

He swallows, the stopper still between his palms as he fiddles with it in the deaf silence.

Will you say nothing?

Thor blinks.

 _What will you have me say?_  
  
The memory stings as much as it did before and suddenly, shakes him into sense. He swallows and his teeth stops nibbling on his lips. They feel so sickly, so incredibly dry. Gently, he places the stopper on a nearby stool and smooths out his leathers in pretence of nonchalance. But he is not a good actor as he used to be, not when there is steadily nothing to gain from it anymore.

Thor's continued silence makes him nauseous and sick. _Sick of who?_ _He is sick of you._

_Sick of you and your lies, for there are worn too thin even for anyone not to see through._

_But you mostly._  
   
The thoughts threatens to manifest and cascade down in a river of tears and Loki turns to leave.

Leave. Yes, leave.

To where, you fool?

 _Where?_  
   
_Ten years is so long._

The door slides close as he exits and Thor does not  
go after him.

[]

Thor is made King. King of a people he once tried to ruled over. King of a kingdom he had helped destroy, in its place stardust and memories of things and places of what feels like an age ago.

_It is so long._

Loki dares not approach anyone or Thor after it.

[]  
  


Thor makes for a better king than Odin.  
  
The people flock to him. Tells him about their problems, grievances, achievements and everything in between. Children play with him and scurry about his feet; sometimes the younger ones are allowed on his lap. Hus large, warm calloused hands stroking their thin hair as they squeal in delight and making their widowed mothers blush. Thor shares in all manners of things concerning  his people, nothing too small or too big. He dines with them, sits with them in the same hall, eats the same food and disposes of it the same way himself down the disposal chute. And though he lacks the golden luster of his youthful self in gleaming armour and sunned locks, he shines brighter than any star to the people of Asgard.

Thor makes for a great king, better than Odin and certainly better that Hela.

_He makes for a great king, none other so more than to me._

Loki, Loki dares not and has not the courage nor heart to touch them, lest he taints Thor's precious people. For how Thor loves them, the people.  Loves them with all his heart and soul, loves them with a fiery protectiveness and bottomless affection that requires nothing in repayment. Loves them so much in fact, that he rather himself sleep in a cot in the engine rooms than to let a poor widow and her child sleep on the floor.

It a love that he perhaps, had once known. So far away into the emptiness of space, lost in the tangle of forgotten memories and aimless daydreams. In the empty hallways of the ship, echoing with the distant sounds of merry on the upper decks and caught between his resounding footsteps. The stars and the emptiness of space his only witness to his lonely existence onboard the vessel, silent.

It is his no longer.

 _Him?The valiant and beloved son of Asgard? Surely_   _even you can't fool yourself with this lie trickster._

_Know that there is no love in his heart for you any longer, Liesmith_

He deserves it. Yes, yes. Of course I do. What did I expect, what did I hope to gain? Am I the naive fool now? Was I being played all along? A pawn in his schemes of things?

What did you expect, dear Loki?

What was it that you hoped for? Confessions? Reunions? Joy? _Oh how the joy he once wrought in me felt like._

You shouldn't expect less shouldn't you? You should've left after you set Asgard in flames.

_Then I would be nothing, nothing but the liar and coward that he thinks me to be._

A great roaring above decks shakes him out of his reverie for a moment, where the burn of tears and the dry, dreadful clot in his throat threatens to strangle him. He releases a shaking sigh as the stars blink at him through the glass pane, another wave of cheering vibrating the metal of the ceilings and floor.

"Long live the king! Long live the king!"

The tears slips from him in rivulets of salt and water, like the lost falls and rivers of Asgard that fades into eternity.  
  
  


_Fool_

_You always were._

[]

" Can you see her?"

  
" Yes."

" How is she?"

" She searches for you."

Headstrong Jane. Brave Jane. He smiles for her.

Heimdall looks at the edge of the broken Bifrost, seeing worlds after countless worlds.

_

_What about him?_

_Can you see him?_

_Heimdall, can I see him?_  
  


_Can I bring him back?_

 

[]

" Hey!"

Thor turns abruptly at the sound of the Valkyrie's voice, sounding more sober than he thinks she can sound. Apparently trying to fix the maintenance tunnels on deck G-2 along with the water filter helps. Thor mentally makes a note to himself to make her to do it more often, just so to avoid a serious beating if he reminds himself vocally.

Valkyrie looks less than pleased when she stomps up to him with Korg and Miek in tow. They seem to be carrying something of a green goo or blob in their hands and Miek's scissors hand thingy is dripping with thick, blue fluid that is too dense to wipe off by hand. Korg and Miek remains, unsuprisingily unfazed about the whole situation when the Valkyrie's head looks likes it about to pop off her head by sheer anger itself.

Thor clears his throat before starting off with," I supposed its all good then?"clearly a poor choice of words when she scowls even deeper, which Thor did did not think was possible.

" Evidently, _your most exalted one_ ,she growls." I crawled my ass into the kiddy tunnel and fixed it for you."

" And the problem was...?"  
   
She gestures to Korg and Miek.

" This!-" " _Ooi_ , don't swing it around!" " - its a Neroofoop from Sakaar!"

" Neroo..Nero..neroowhat?"

Valkyrie rolls her eyes.

" It's a kind of aquatic worm your majesty, native to Sakaar. They live and reproduce in water. It was  probably on the ship months ago before we even stole it."

" And you killed it?"

" Nah, rock man and purple spider did it. I pulled it out of the water filter. Almost burned my fingers off too." She grinned, flexing her blackened fingers.

"That explains the black water then. The healers was raising hell all over it." Thor rubbed the back of his neck absent mindedly. ' I'll tell them its fixed."

She grabs one firm bicep to stop him.

"That was the water filter on deck G-2 your majesty."

She shrugs. " There's like what, 34 decks with 16 filters each leading to the mains in the boiler room?"

Thor groans.

The worms have invaded the whole piping system obviously, no one getting clean water anywhere anymore. One of the healers suggests boiling it for a good 14 hrs before drinking it and promptly orders Thor to stop the people from drinking the water for another 16 hours or so.

"Another 2 hours for testing some cleansing magic. But they are unfamiliar with the creature so they may take even longer."

Everyone takes badly to this of course. Except for the Valkyrie, who lets out a boorish laugh and takes four or more swigs of an obnoxiously large bottle of Saakarian booze in one go.

Oh, she also shows her blackened middle finger at him.

[]

" What can you see my friend?"

" Worlds, stars far away and creatures never seen before."

" Anything else?"

" The worms in the pipes my lord." Heimdall low drawl rumbles into something that sounds like amusement.

" Ah," Thor replies stupidly. He had meant to tell Heimdall about the most recent fiasco on the ship but judging by his all-seeing eyes and all- knowing wisdom, he would've known already. Sometimes, Thor thinks he says too little about too many things.

It's a sentiment that  he has held in his heart since he was but a young princeling, staring at the gatekeeper with something akin to awe and fear.

" I see the people settling in for the night, the children drifting off to sleep. The Valkyrie drinking and the Hulk losing to her in another round of Saakarian poker."

Thor lets the comforting and familiar sound of Heimdall deep voice soothe his frayed nerves and mind. His sore muscles flexing and relaxing as he listens to the hum of the ship as it plows on slowly to its destination. The ache in his ribs and bones creak and groan, and finally the coils in his tired flesh eases a little.  
He exhales as Heimdall falls silent again. Perhaps he already has a long moment ago.

He lets loose a small tremulous sigh when he feels the ache in his heart.

That ache will never  subside, no matter how hard he tries. There is a hole where _someon_ \- something had once filled it. It's a dry, hollow cave where the remnants of water that had flowed through it like blood through veins is gone. Thor had resigned himself to it and pushed it aside.

The stars glimmer in the far distance.  
  


"And I see that you refuse yourself a question you would very much wish to ask."

_Can you see him?_

The vestige of his past self seizes at that hollowed part of his heart. The sleepless nights that followed, haunted by his lingering questions and suffocating in the chokehold of his bottomless guilt. The anger and the terrible, terrible relief than followed when he was summoned by Odin to be sent to Earth.

The despair he had felt on Midgard. The numbness that followed soon after, replaced quickly by the flames of the oh so familiar guilt and grief that licked at his skin constantly, turning into ash like the grey, grey sands of a decaying realm.

And love, that neverending, stubborn, * _cursed_ flicker of affection that trickles into the cracks of his heart and threatens to render him useless. One that molds the gaping hole of his heart into the shape of _Lo-_

" Ha- has he done something?"  
   
" No."

He has not seen Loki since his appearance and subsequent exit that day. He's probably gone to who knows where.

_He saved them both the inevitable disappointment. Smart._

_Be happy then._

_Be happy and ask what you already know._

"He's fled then." Thor voice cracks and feels almost as if unused for a long time.

_You think so little of me._

Heimdall turns to him, his golden eyes boring into his skull.

" No."

Heimdall turns his gaze back onto the stars, but not before adding " Perhaps my lord might find him something to do in deck 5C."

Thor merely nods.  
  
  
  


[]

They are into the fourth week of their voyage.

Thor and Loki do not see each other.

Heimdall reports to Thor every evening.

[]  
  
  


Thor dreams on his cot one night, the whole worm fiasco still unresolved and taking a toll on him.

_Loki, I thought the world of you._

Thor tosses and his dreams turns and changes.  
  


_The three stars to the left is the three Virgins, to the far right the Hunter who chases them._

_And here is Asgard, the brightest star in the_ _northern sky._

 

_How can you see through all that stuff in the sky Loki?_  
  
  


 

Six weeks in and the worm thing is still hot topic. Valkyrie's groans and grumbles can be heard throughout the ship.

Heimdall reports to Thor every evening.  
  


[]

His time on this vessel is very much like that of his time in his cell.

He has nothing to do but sift through old memories, his vague recollection of old poetry and sometimes, old songs.  
He had used to practise them with Frigga, when he was young and unable to join Thor in his little misadventures or on the training field. Bored out of his mind, he had simply sat and watched as Frigga weaved her tapestries. Then most of the times, she would start to sing or hum.Little words and lines  leaks from her lips sometimes, when she she sings high notes as her hands spin her weaving. Not soon after, Loki had joined in; holding and spinning the thread as she sang with him.

The songs, like Frigga herself and her warm, homely weaving chambers in Asgard are now but dusty recollections Loki picks at in the library of his memories. Frigga's face has faded into memory, and he thinks he is losing grip on his sanity, if there ever was any left in him. Nothing remains of his mother but the sound of her spindle working her tapestries, and the wisps of magic that follows her every time he walks down the memory lane of the deceased queen.

I'm losing it. But not yet, not all at least. He should feel sorrow he thinks , but he does not. For Frigga is in Valhalla, where she can sing her songs and weave the tapestries of the Fates and the Norns forever.

What's so sorrowful about that?

If anything, his mother is free of her son that was never her son at all.

Perhaps it is morbid, to find happiness in death but his heart lightens as his mind paints a blurry picture of a weaving chamber and the voice of a woman singing.

  
_"I heard a young girl who was tearful,"_

 

_"Who sang in the shade of the trees,"_

 

_"My love is on the high seas."_

And in this he could almost see his mother's face again, her laughter accompanied by his. A moment of joy, lost to the ages. He could then see Thor and him riding with the wind on their steeds, their eyes shining in mutual affection. And Thor's was so _blue, blue like the summer sky in Asgard and the tulips and the whole universe itself._

 

_soft and sweet like the dew in June_

 

_and this chorus kept on coming up:_

 

_"My love is on the high seas"_

 

Loki's library of memories bursts open with scenes of summer and spring, thunder and rain. The first gift Thor bestows upon him, a green lotus for some reason. Then some gifts later that are more vividly painted by his mind, a bracelet, a bejewelled green sparrow and a lone trip to the enchanted woods. _There they had kissed, Thor's golden locks tangling with own as they lay on the ground and fumbled around till the golden dawn of Asgard's early hours crept on them._

"Her heart was breaking with love"

"when I took her by the hand"

"be away from tears, your love is saved,

 

_I came safely across the high seas"._

Loki thinks, between his crying and singing the song of his dead mother, or his lonesome immortal existence and his immoral and forgotten love of his brother, that he had no sanity to begin with.

[]

                                   
"Talk to him, if he's still on this bloody ship. I dun think anyone knows more bloody magic and that hocus pocus than him. I can't stand waiting in line for drinks anymore."

Valkyrie has exhausted her liquor stash and unfortunately, as she puts it must be like the rest of them and drink water. Which she eyes with such disgust that Thor wonders if it's the constant dealing with the worms or the fact that her source of fluids had been solely alcohol for past millennia.

It's been seven weeks since they've last seen each other. And Thor feels awkward and accursed guilt when one woman asks if Loki had survived the destruction of Asgard.

" Did he board the ship in time your majesty?"

Thor hearts swells at the thought that his people cares for Loki and he hates it in turn. What would Loki say? Would he even care?  
  
" Though disguised as Odin, he was a fairly decent and sometimes even a kind king," she continues. Thor can only listen."If he did not take me in as a palace maid, my sister and I would have been forced penniless onto the streets."

She hands him something wrapped in a pieces of cloth.

"During my time in the palace, he even indulged me in my interests for sewing. This is some cloths that I have weaved and the sewing kit that he granted me."

His heart aches at the proof of Loki's kindness, resting in his palms and neatly wrapped in soft red and pink cloths.  
He heart aches, that this kindness was not meant towards him.

" Could- could your majesty possibly give this to the prince to show my gratitude?"

Thor only nods, because he cannot trust his crackling heart to answer the earnest woman in words.  
  
  
  
  
  


It is 12:45 pm, Thursday on their seventh week since the destruction of Asgard, that Thor finally walks the stairs down to the lower decks of the ship.

The people had mostly occupied the upper decks of the ships, where the accomodations were more catered towards the once former owner of the ship and catered towards some semblance of comfort.  
The lower decks were where the gladiators gathered to gamble and participate in bizarre Saakarian games. Thanks to Korg, Thor had managed to play perhaps twice, and lost twice. But the Saakarians were treated equally like the rest of Asgard and both sides got on generally well. They had fought against Hela together and felt bonded in kinship and loss.

Other than rowdy Saakarian card games and Valkyrie wrestling matches with Hulk, the lower decks were mostly abandoned.

All but for Loki, who Heimdall says lingers and roams  the empty halls and slips into somewhere even his eyes cannot perceive. Ever was Loki shifty in his actions and Thor wondered if he could locate him.

Do I want to know?

Do I want to see him?

There is so so much spanned between them, the chasm that provides no bridge to cross lingers with the memories of betrayals, lies and bright summer childhoods spent together. Those memories were so old that Thor wonders if the wounds were already much too bloated and infected to heal. The recent ones still bleeds like rivers of blood, the wound still open;  Thor swears that his sea has already dried up.

_But Loki is a torrent, an unpredictable monsoon storm that brings the water to flow from the rivers into the sea of his heart again._

Thor stops himself as he passed a rather dull unremarkable door. Stares at it and opens it. Looks around the empty shelves and the suspicious crack in the wall.  
An old trick. Loki loved riddles when he was young and Thor often got caught up in them. Thinking about the answer for hours, days , weeks even to solve clever Loki's puzzle.

Loki would've smiled and grinned so brightly, that Thor could hardly believe that  Loki was once, so terribly honest and open about his affections.

_I hate it's quantity, as I hate painted on it a hideous sunset. With crooked smile it reproaches me._

It had taken Thor a month to figure that out. And Father was not pleased to find a magic crack in the palace walls a day after.

7th door.Red.Cracked wall.  
  

_Here I am! Here I am!_

Thor reaches for the handle he can't see but he twists it as manifests in his hands. A door hinge appears at the crack and it relents as Thor opens the door.

It wafts to him, like the scent of flowers brought on by the breeze. The smells of fresh grass drenched in rain, the earth after a storm; brewing mint leaves with a hint of sugary bitterness. The space Loki occupies is not big, certainly small for the likes of a prince of Asgard. But Asgard is gone, along with its grand splendour and luxuries, so they have to make do with what they have.

There are small shelves here and there. Little trinkets and boxes are placed on them.  Loki's beloved green daggers are placed beside his makeshift bed side table beside his makeshift bed. Thor has not seen them in ages. His helmet lays on his bed, while his leathers and clothes hang from pegs in the walls. Some books here and there, scattered and some neatly stacked.  
  
It's feels like he has invaded on something intimate. Because this room is so distinctly Loki that Thor finally feels the strain of avoiding him for a whole month and more. Even just the simple pleasure of chancing a glance at him, perhaps would've help ease his heart and unwind his troubles faster. A wisp of dark hair as he turns, or the smell of Loki that lingers in common room.

Thor cannot allow himself that any longer. For he is king and his heart must go to his people. If Loki feels it too, then perhaps he should've apologized to him first.

"Thor?"

Inwardly, he traitorous hearts skips and twists at the sound of his smooth, silky voice. Thor turns to face him, all stone cold regard.

Loki withers when he sees his face, his green eyes downcast and his black hair framing his face in the starlight. Thor wants nothing more than to crumble and let his aching heart love again, but he must not.

He had suffered too much for too little in return.

Loki sighs and bows his head.

"Your majesty."

It's cold, so cold. Thor nods his head minutely.

" You're here."

" Yes." It's quiet, hesitant.

" Why did you stay?" Thor marvels at how cold he can be. Learnt from the best after all.

A flicker of hurts shines in Loki's eyes before they shied away just as quickly, emerald orbs watery and glazed. He lowers his eyes to feet and wills himself to laugh a little. It tugs at Thor at heartstrings something awful.

Where should I go then?" Loki's voice sounds so small, like Thor had reduced it to mere embers of  what it once was. It makes feel him like a mean, shrewd bully.

_Once, you were._

Thor frowns deeper. Guilt has never sat well with him .

"I have something for you." Loki looks and stares at the small, delicate package in his hands.

"It's from Lorna."

"Lorna." Loki handles the delicate thing carefully in his slender, pale fingers and places in onto a peach palm . Thor eyes him, not so subtly.

" She gives her thanks and gratitude for taking her in."

Loki unfolds the small cloths, a silver needle and a little bundle of thread inside. Carefully, he folds it back again on his palms.

"And her sister?"

"Well."  
  
A heavy silence falls between them, with neither knowing what to say. Loki's lips open and close, as if to form words but die immediately on the tip of his tongue. Thor stands only barely a feet away from him, his fits clenching and unclenching. The distance between feels insurmountable. For the first time, neither has anything to say; no words of laughter, mischief or even a smile dipped in affection. Silver tongues turned to lead.

_Our paths diverged a long time ago._

Thor's heart screams at him to say something, to salvage it before it is completely lost, before he leaves him again.

"I have something to ask of you."  
  
  
  
  


"Have you not seen the healers about it?"

"I have but their solutions are too...ineffective of late."

Loki is up to his waist in the main filter of the engine, water spilling out as he tinkers and tests the switches and bolts.

"Hold the chair steady Thor."

Thor huffs as he grips on the the chair Loki is standing on. Even with it, Loki stands on tiptoes to fully reach the main filters in the pipes. For a moment, there is the sound of screws and bolts being screwed and unscrewed, then the flick or switch, a push of a creaky button......

Loki's voice whispers and casts a spell in an unknown language and the room is aglow with the familiar green wisps of his magic. The water stops spilling out and Loki stills as if suspended on his tip toes.

Wisps of green magic evaporates like steam.

"ARGh!!!!"

Loki's fall is accompanied by a terrible screeching as he blown away from the pipes. One of the legs of the chair break, and Loki topples onto Thor. A moment of silence later ,then a gigantic brown blob falls from the pipe and onto the floor with a loud squishy plunk.

Thor groans in horror. " What is that?"

Loki sits himself up properly. " The Queen Neroofoop, of course."

The brown blob hisses and wriggles,screeching and writhing in its death throes. Its brown blob body seems to inflate as it gives a last, dying screech.

"Look out!"

Loki pushes Thor out of the way by slamming his body into him as the dead worm bursts apart and spatters the whole room in its gooey, green guts.

"What was that!?"

" Death, brother."

Thor's hands grabs into him as Loki is toppled over his body, slowly coming to his senses after the organic 'explosion'. His smooths the strands of his hair that are out of place, shaking off any residue of intestinal juices as they get up from the ground. Remembering the Valkyrie's burnt and blackened fingers, his hands come instinctively to cradle his sharp cheeks in check of any injuries. Loki sighs and leans into it, starving.

They both freeze.

They breathe each others air now, literally face to face. By sitting up, Loki finds himself straddling Thor's lap, which in past situations the cause did not involve the death of a brown, gooey maggot- like worm. Thor's hands are still on his cheeks, thumb swiping gently across his skin as his blue eye stares at him. Thor finds dark circles beneath Loki's radiant, emerald eyes that shines in the dimness of space. His skin always pale and his mouth parted slightly, his lips a thin, chalk-like hue of pink.

_You are my downfall brother, Thor utters softly._

"Did you enchant her?" Thor asks.

"What?"

_My one sweet and most desperate joy,_

"I said did you enchant her?"

"Her?"

_My most lovely of muses,_

Thor grabs at his arms roughly and Loki winces in pain.

"Don't play the fool Loki, did you cast a spell on her!?"

"What?On Lorna?....No....I would never...Why-"

Thor growls and tendrils of electricity follows the curves of his arms. There is anger in him, rising steadily; a desperate fear. His nails dig into Loki's leathers and skin. He hisses.

_My one love._

"You did."

"I didn't ! Why..Ow!...Let go of m-" Thor snarls and pulls Loki in by the arm as he scrambles and writhes in his tightening grip.

"You did. How else would she admit to see you in kindness? In benevolence?"

His eyes widen in fear and hurt. He swallows as  Thor's eyes glow blue.

"I swear to you, Thor. I didn't do anything," he pleads with a quivering voice. Guilt flickers in Thor's crumbling heart.

"Did you enchant the whole of Asgard too?"

"Thor please I-"

"Did you curse them in your rule?"

Loki whimpers in pain. His arm is about the break, if he does not die first. Sparks of electricity dances on his skin and stings his frayed nerves. Thor looks about to punch him or choke him. He pulls at his arm again, almost dislodging his bones and Loki swear he can them creak under the strain of such power. Tears began to slip out from his lids in mounting despair and pain.

"Thor,.....stop!" He cries.

He does.

For a moment, Loki's cry shakes him from his rage. He lets go of his arm and Loki immediately scrambles away from him, clutching at his bruised forearm. His eyes are like a lantern in the faint starlight, awash with pearly tears. They flicker towards him, and they change into something else entirely.

Fear.

_What have I done?_

_Damn you! Damn you!_

_You cursed me too!_

Loki's eyes are like stars when they fill with tears and Thor is drawn like a moth to a flame. _You never could resist_

_Damn you!_

Thor grabs and kisses him. There is no soft affection when  he swipes his tongue against his teeth, forcefully demanding entry. He pays no heed as Loki gasps and scrambles for breath as he invades his mouth. He snarls as his hands push against his bare shoulders before swiping them away with a flick of his hands. He locks them behind him as he ravages his mouth without finesse. Tongues sloppily licking against each other as Thor tastes blood. Loki's lower lip is painted red by Thor's teeth and tongue. Thor rarely allows a moment of reprieve and he goes dizzy with the need for air.

They part for a moment as Loki gasps and chokes. Thor grabs him by the hair and bites at the curve of his exposed shoulder,the collar of his costume ripped off in an instant by the powerful god. His lower lip stings and he restrains himself from biting it at the sensation of teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulder, marring it. Thor's grip is firm on both his arms, encasing them in his large palms.

"Stop...stop it..brother, please-"

Thor pays no heed and Loki shudders at the sound of tearing leather and cold air.

"Stop, please...."

Loki is pushed onto the bare ground, a few feet away is covered in alien goo and guts. Thor looms above him as his torn leathers are thrown aside like an afterthought. Completely bare to Thor's eyes, Loki eyes start to blur over and Thor swirls into a blurry figure of mixing colours.

Thor hates it. Hates those eyes as much as he loves it.

Loki continues to plead,with his swollen cherry lips and tongue;with his starry green eyes. Asks him to stop in his trembling and cracking voice, like the soft silks of the palace curtains. His heart constricts with that unbearable love that threatens to beat anew again. To  love him as he once did, like in that enchanted forest so many eons ago.

"If you want me to stop, I will leave and you shall never see me again."  
  
His eyes widen.

_When have you becomed the cruel one?_

Loki swallows. Thor follows the movement of his bitten neck hungrily. He sags and all fight goes out of him, sadness overtaking it. _Yield, brother_

Thor kisses him. His hands fumble at his trousers as the other reaches between Loki's thighs. Strokes at his erect cock, Loki making a strained moan that is frayed with pain. Lower, between his balls and Loki's breath hitches as Thor skims over his folds.

_Jotun._

They are smooth and plump to the touch and Thor caresses it. Loki moans, his legs clamping around Thor's waist as Thor fumbles with the little nub. Loki grows wet in a matter of seconds and Thor's cock is an angry stick between his legs. He lines himself up with his entrance and pushes in.  
Loki shouts. Thor is big and his sheath struggles to  accommodate him and as he sinks deeper, he starts to tremble as the stretch overwhelms him. Thor is startled when he feels a thin stretch of skin inside blocking his entrance. Cold realisation washes over him.

Loki's never done this before. His virginity is untouched till now.

_You are making him give it to you._

_You cruel beast._

Loki seems to be almost convulsing beneath him, his breaths labored as his half lidded eyes are turned to the side, pearl string of tears sliding across the arch of his nose and disappearing into his tousled hair, spread like a crown across the floor. His thighs tremble at his waist, tense and clutching.

Thor puts a hand over his eyes. Loki's breath hitches and his soft sobs echo in the eerie silence of the dark room.

_Don't make me see_

Thor pushes in.

Loki gives out a choked cry. The pain licks like fire at him as Thor settles in completely. He cannot see anything in the pitch darkness of Thor's palm. He has half the mind to perhaps pry it away but his hands grasps at Thor's solid shoulders for dear life as he begins to move. He feels something warm trickling down his arse and whimpers as the warm blood trickles out of between their joined bodies. Thor's thrusts start to pick up speed and the line between pleasure and pain starts to fray and fuzz. Thor groans and chokes down his own moans at the vice grip of Loki body, wetness dripping out of at the junction of their joined bodies and matting his pubic hair. It has blood in it too and Loki trembles when his other free hand massages at his engorged folds. Beneath his palm, tears flow out like rivers across flushed cheeks.

Thor kisses him as his hips starts to piston into the quivering channel and he swallows down his cries and moans along with it .The bite wound on Loki's lips taste faintly of blood when swipes his tongue across it .

_"You are not my only lover Thor."_

_"I know. But know that I will always love you best. " Thor whispers as he strokes a purple mark on Loki's neck. Arms encircling his waist, he rests his head on his bare shoulders._

His thrusts are losing rhythm, slapping inconsistently against Loki's arse. Thor's about to break him in half, his slender legs are slung across his shoulders as he searches for the right angle and pounds into him more deeply. They are covered in sweat, the sound of their heady breaths eclipsed only by the lewd sound of wet, slapping skin. His cock is throbbing in him, the tightness only increasing as Loki's cunts squelches and oozes his silky warmth. Thor feels his impending orgasm and he hides his face in the curve of Loki  shoulder. His hand still covering his eyes, tears slips out from his eye as he continues to pound into him ruthlessly.

_"Never forget that Loki."_

Loki gives a stuttering cry as Thor spills in him, a flood of heat that seeps deep into him. His sheath convulses and tightens, milking another wave from him and Thor's hips stutter and buck violently. Loki spills himself when Thor swipes a hand across his head and his tired body convulses again. Thor collapses on him, their sweaty bodies laying against each other ,their bodies still joined together.

_"Loki...."_

The vague sensation of Thor fingers stroking him is the last thing he feels before darkness envelopes him and he fades into black.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When he wakes, he finds himself alone.

[]

It is into eight week of their voyage when Thanos finds them.  
Loki crumbles and his hands shake in fear.

Half of the remaining Asgard is slain and Loki stands before his former master with the Tesseract in his hands.

Heimdall can no longer see.

Thor cannot move as the Maw restrains him with parts and bits of metal of the ship. Loki attempts to weasel his way out and then he raises a knife at the Mad Titan.

Loki dies.

Thor survives.

[]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Ahhh......nnmnn..brother...,"

Thor crowds over him as his tongue slips between Loki's pinkish lips, a lustful moan escaping as their tongue dance together in their mouths. His greedy hands grabs at a fistful of dark, raven air as their lips separate with a loud smack and Thor observes the thread of saliva still hanging between their lips.Loki flushes underneath him, pale neck exposed and swollen lips panting and heaving for breath. His lithe body writhes on Thor's red cloak beneath them as it strikes something lustful and possessive in the golden Prince's heart.

"Brother."

Thor groans as his arousal twitches uncomfortably in his pants.Overcomed by senselessness and lust, Thor lunges for that pale enticing neck like a man dying of thirst. Licks and suckles along the pale, lean stretch of moonlight skin, coaxing gasps and moans from the lovely prince beneath him. Loki's hands scramble to untie the hooks and belts of his cumbersome armour. Thor simply rips Loki's off in a tear of leather and Loki gives an undignified squeal when his clothes are yanked from him.

Loki is laid bare before him;his pale, marble skin an outworldly glow in the starlight and on his colours. His eyes glazes over with lust as a pale arm cradles the side of his face.Thor finds himself on the edge of sanity, eyes blown over as he controls his rising urge to ravish his brother's beauty laid bare beneath him.  
  
Loki kisses him with fervour, tongue demanding entrance and making the most lusty moans.

Then so incredibly pale in the moonlight, sweat on his lovely brow as Thor devours and drowns in love, he whispers the sweetest things. A confession, a pledge,  a secret; a vow.

_I am yours for eternity._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The forest hums and sings with the crickets and critters of the night.

[]  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok this chapter can be confusing and a bit trippy. No minor case of PTSD for the god of thunder. So heads up!!!!!

 

[]

 

The waves wash upon the golden shores.

 

 

Thor lies on the soft sands, eyes upward as he faces the sky. Lazy clouds litter the stretch of the blue, summer heavens of the slow afternoon. Far ahead, he hears an eagle cry; its golden feathers glitter like the golden spirals of Asgard in the glow of a faraway star.

 

“Loki?”

 

He rises, eyes scouting the long stretch of the beach and the cliffs littering the shoreline. His young, bare feet dig into the soft sands of the shore. Overhead, the golden eagle cries.

 

“Loki?”

 

“Where did you go?”

 

He was sure, so sure that he was here a moment ago. He’s lost his boots somewhere in the sands and gets up to walk without it. His hands come up to his lips as he calls for Loki again.

 

The eagle has disappeared.

 

“Loki? Where’d you go?”

 

He follows the footfalls of a certain feet that have left its indent on the malleable white sands. He smiles as he spots him; bent over collecting rocks and sands from the beach. He sprints towards him and shouts his name at him. Loki stills, then as if Thor’s voice came from the sea, turns to face it. It stops Thor in his tracks, his feet sinking into the sands.

 

“Loki? Where are you going?”

 

Loki does not hear him and walks into the waves crashing on the shore, bare feet dragging across wet sands.

 

His heart starts to beat frantically in panic. He can’t remember why.

 

“Where are you going?” Rocks and sand slips from Loki’s fingers as he slowly wades into the waters.

 

He follows him, his feet sinking deeper into the sands as he tries to catch him. The sand has become like mud and with each step its gets harder to run. He is sinking, sinking, sinking…

 

_Stop_

 

_Don’t leave me_

 

He struggles against the shifting sands, the tide suddenly has become stronger, the waves rising and crashing with such force that he is all but drenched. The sands pull at him and the rising tide drags him deeper.

 

_Come back!_

 

Loki looks to the sky, the wind blowing his raven hair across his face and in his green eyes the reflection of a magnificent eagle as it swoops down and…

 

A huge wave crashes into him, and he is lost and sunk beneath the waves. Breath leaves him slowly as he sinks deeper into the bottomless sea. His bruised hands grasps at nothing.

 

_Come back!_

 

_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—_

_“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!_

_Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!_

_Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!_

_Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”_

_Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”_

 

  

[]

 

    After everything, Thor would’ve thought he would feel nothing by now. He betrays him, gets locked up, help him again; then he dies. Repetition, repetition. Some people find solace in it, knowing what’s to come. They fear the dark, the unknown: the unpredictability that comes with it.

 

    Then what I am then? Do I fear the unknown? Do I fear repetition?

 

    He seems to be all of those things. _Unpredictable in his predictability._

 

Repetition, repetition…he dies, you mourn, he comes back, betrays you again and again and _the merry go wheel goes round and round…………….._

 

 

Thor bends under it all, the grief, the guilt that comes with their defeat. People turned to ash, empty city blocks and lost, wandering children in the lonely fields.

Guilt, grief, they all come in different forms, memories, sounds; screams. Like those of the fires of Hel, which consumes everything in its path. His people lying dead on the ground, a consequence of his own weakness, and….

And…

 

_Please, don’t make me see!_

 

He should’ve known by then, what would happen. It seems like the pattern of repetition has never really caught up with him. If it had, he would’ve never had said those awful last words to him, nor left him after he…after I…

 

_Oh please, don’t make me see!_

_Oh, Loki. I’m so tired._

 

“I don’t want to keep doing this anymore. I can’t.”

 

“ I cannot bear it.”

 

 

 

 

 

_But you deserve it._

 

 

 

_

 

 

 

“ Had I known what would happen, I would not have done such things.”

 

 

 “Done what?”

 

 

The Avengers basically occupy the whole of Wakanda’s palace now, now that the entire royal family is gone. Another list of victims to add to their infinite lists of ashen corpses and failure. Bruce tries again when he doesn’t give an answer.

 

“You came the closest than any one of us, you cannot blame yourself.”

 

Yes. He was. If I had not been blinded by my own anger, I could have killed him. If I did not fall prey to my own heart and followed my mind instead, trillions would not be dead as a cause of my foolish sentiment. _If only I didn’t love him so well…._

 

Unfortunate it must be, that it was not enough by then…

 

“ Thor? Buddy?” He is shaken from his thoughts by the quiet sound of the doctor’s voice. He flexes his fingers and looks at him.

 

“But I should’ve, shouldn’t I?”

 

That out of context comment of his stuns the good doctor. Still, Thor remains almost motionless beside him, eyes unseeing and somewhere far away.

 

Bruce lays his hand on his shoulder. He wills himself not to shake in front of him.

 

“ You turned the tide for us Thor, we can’t be more grateful for that.”

 

Tell that to him then. I was too late to stop it, and I didn’t try, even when I had the chance.

 

“ Its not your fault Thor.”

 

But it is isn’t it? You couldn’t stop him, not the first time nor the second.

 

And now, he’s gone. Gone because of you. Repetition, repetition…. here we go again. _Round and the round the merry wheel goes…_.

 

He’s gone, and you will never make it up to him. _Round and the round the merry wheel goes…._

 

My fault…my fault. But I tried…I really did…. _Round and round goes the merry wheel…………_

 

_It not enough though was it? And it will never be._

 

Repetition.Repetiton… _round and round it goes…_

 

“Excuse me, friend Bruce.”

 

Thor retreats down the empty hallway, ignoring Bruce’s cries. He is running now, but these days his mind isn’t his own anymore. The ghosts of his past follow him down the hall, unrelenting.

 

_Stop!_

 

_Leave me be!_

 

 

 

_But you miss me._

 

_You always miss me._

 

[]

 

 

For centuries, love and brother had both been synonymous words. Where Thor goes, Loki follows. They did everything together, and shared their hopes and aspirations with each other. Many nights were spent ducking under shared covers and reading tales of heroic warriors on mystic adventures. The day they were assigned separate rooms, Thor has never sulked or threw a larger tantrum.

Odin was not pleased then, and he had received a smack on the bottom for good measure.

 

“ Please, mother. I want to sleep with Loki!” He had tearfully declared to Frigga that same evening. Frigga had only smiled, rubbing his sore bottom with a little bit of her magic to soothe the red marks.

 

That night, he had lied on his bed, all to big and empty. Crying with snot running down his nose, unable to sleep.

 

“Thor?”

 

“ Loki!”

 

Loki crept up onto his bed, warm and soft in his embrace. They were both so young then, and had barely spent a day without each other. Thor thought his father cruel to separate them so suddenly. He hugged Loki tighter. And Loki, bless him, hugged him back too.

 

“ You’re covered in snot big brother.” Thor laughs, leaning into Loki’s hands cradled at his wet cheeks. “ Must you always make fun of me?” Loki smirks, all mischief and white teeth.

 

“ Only because you’re a whiny girl.”

 

“ I’m not!”

 

“Are too ~”

 

“Am not!”

 

“Are too!”

 

They laughed together and Thor held Loki’s face in his hands, squeezing him hard to stop his giggles at him.

 

“We’ll be together forever won’t we?”

 

Loki grabs onto his arms, still warm in his nightshirt.

 

“Of course we’ll be, you big oaf.”

 

 

 

 

Thor could never remember why, but as the golden days of his youth passed one after another he saw less of his brother. One night he never came, and Loki never comes to visit him again.

 

 

[]

 

 

In those strange days after Thanos, everything seems to exist in a surreal world. Nothing in the unending silence of the following days portends the mass killings that have taken place. Walking through the forests and fields, there are fewer sounds of insects to be heard, only the tall grass drifting in the wake of a breeze.

In the city, one might think they walked into a ghost town, with the lingering smell of ash in the air. One might even mistake the sad, remaining people as ghosts and nothing more.

 

“We have to do something, we can’t just…sit here forever.” Natasha pleads, desperate for answers. None of them can give any. They still try for one, and Thor wants to stop them to spare them from further disappointment. But who was he to tell not to try, when the reason they needed to try was his own failure. They hadn’t even found Stark yet.

 

For the moment, all they have is the Black Widow's plea. They return to their own quarters.

Until they find an inkling of a solution, they can only hope for a dreamless sleep. Of course, Thor doesn't have that luxury. None of them do.

 

_My sins won't let me sleep that blessed dreamless sleep._

He is so terribly tired. His hands come over his eyes, dragging at his eyelids, dragging them close. Behind his eyelids, memories blur over. His sight becomes bathed in red. Repetition,repetition....I never learn. No matter how many times. I can only wish i died with you, then maybe i could've told you, told you everything you deserve to hear. 

"I'm so tired Loki."

He lets out a hysterical laugh. Truly, something is wrong in him by this point. Somewhere in the annals of his crumbling memory, he remembers someone saying that sometimes, the other word for repetition is just simply...

_Madness._

His hands leaves his face then, eyes still closed. He can see vividly, the image of Loki hanging limp in Thanos's clasped fists. A lifeless corpse that became that way because of him. But he is one among many.

 

" I would've died with you and followed you anywhere."

 

" Because the truth is if you were alive, it would've been enough."

 

" Loki, can you hear me?'

 

_You were all i had left, and you were enough._

 

_Come back._

 

_Come back._

 

[]

 

They do find a way eventually. Carol shows up and brings Stark back, along with a blue woman that Rocket knows. They sit in silent mourning together after the ship is retrieved back to Earth. They gather up themselves, Stark excluded and boards the ship to chase the titan down.

Thanos is a sorry version of himself when they arrive, all scarred and weak. Amazing how he still manages to crush their hopes. Natasha starts to cry and shake and in Thor , a cold simmering fury builds.

This time, he aims for the head.Its goes off clean like a child toy.

" What did you do?"

" I went for the head."

Among the horrified gasps and stricken faces of the remaining Avengers, he leaves.

At the corner of his eye, the shadow of his brother's corpse watches him retreat.

 

[]

 

The first time Thor realises what his love for Loki really was, he was beyond horrified.

 

They were sparring that day. It was rare that Loki spared with Thor. Those times when he willingly did were centuries ago, when Loki still sneaked out to visit him during the night.

" Come, brother. We've not sparred in ages."

" For good reason." Loki replies, cleaning his beloved daggers with a cloth.

" You're not afraid of losing are you?" Thor quips in his youthful arrogance.

Loki swipes the cloth hard against the polished metal of his daggers, the cloth going swish in a flick of swift hands. Loki looks over his clean daggers, ever fastidious. Even in combat. 

His green eyes turn to Thor, a challenge gleaming in the ruby of his eyes.

"Are you?"

Thor grins, brandishing his axe as Loki swipes hands for daggers.

 

They end up sparring for the whole afternoon. Loki and him exchanging swipes at each other, his fast moves block by Thor's mighty strength. Both of his daggers scratch against Thor's axe in sparks, and he lets out a huff of frustration as he strains to push against it.

"I see your hesitance now Loki." Thor laughs, still blocking his ongoing dive of daggers at him. Loki gives an answering snarl. He releases his failing swap at him and returns to stance. Thor swings him axe, almost casually, just to tick off Loki even further. He likes the angry, smouldering ember that lights a fire in Loki's green eyes. They shine like the brightest stars.

Loki lunges for him again. Quickly, he slides a dagger into his free hand and aims the tip into the Thor's exposed flank. Thor swipes him with his feet and Loki hooks another dagger onto his axe, the momentum pulling them down together into the marble floors. Loki lands soon after, but not before conjuring another dagger and swiping it towards his neck. Thor grabs his hand and dislodges the dagger from his grip, the sleek thing sliding far across the training grounds. Loki writhes under his weight, hair curled out beneath him. Thor gives a throaty chuckle, lungs still heaving for air.

"Yield, brother." Stubborn as he was, Loki titles his chin at him and strives to struggle. Inwardly, Thor smirks at that very Loki display of immovable stubbornness and vain pride. Thor pushes the handle of the axe further down on him, leaning his weight downwards as he does so. Loki gives a grunt of frustration.

" Yield," This time , his tone is far more menacing then before. Loki's nostrils flare in indignation.

Then, he sags beneath him, His eyelids fluttering something akin to exasperation as both of their gasps soften into heavy breaths. A pale sheen of sweat shines off Loki's forehead in the glow of the afternoon sun, reflecting the paleness of his skin, as pure as the marble floors beneath him. His hair is a stark contrast to his paleness, a shock of inky black that makes his skin glow, in daylight or moonlight. His thin,chalky-thin lips opens slightly as he regains his normal breath. The long column of his neck is bared by the his collar, smooth and slim.

Unconsciously, Thor presses more against him. Loki's brows creases in frustration now.

" Well? You need to get off me to gloat don't you?"

In horror, he realises his erection in his pants, pressed against Loki's thigh. 

He recoils immediately, looking stunned and stupid. Loki frowns as he smooths out his clothing.

" I need...to...I need to go." Loki looks at him in half confusion and frustration.

 

Thor avoids him at dinner later, for good reason. He's too busy bedding girls to get him off.

 

Clearly, it didn't work. Months later  he has Loki beneath him again but for an entirely different reason, both of them are pulled down a rabbit hole none of them has ever escaped from. 

 

[]

 

The days after are spent in a blur.

He drinks to forget, blacking after 20 rounds or so. Then he wakes again, drinks 20 rounds or so, blacking out....

_Repetition, repetition.....round and round the the merry go round goes._

Loki's ghost lingers around him in his house. Both of them trapped in limbo, never able to move on because of him.

It never talks. Just sits there and stares into the void, his skin greyish like that time on the dark world. He had just appeared there one day, after a whole year. By then, Thor's body has become flabby and he no longer pleads for him to come back.But he stuck there anyway, a shadow no one but he can see. A punishment for the both of them, trapped together for eternity, forever looping through their mistakes and sins.

Suppose he could chase him away really, but Thor neither has the bravery nor heart to do it. He fears if he attempted to speak to it, it would vanish into thin air. He wouldn't know what he'd do if Loki leaves him again.So, he never speaks to it. He accepts him as  a morbid companion, one probably dragged from the depths of Hel as a manifestation of his madness. 

 

The alcohol starts to blur his thoughts and he leans heavily onto the chair as the pleasant waves of drunkenness envelops him. He hasn't been sober for over a year. Loki sits right in front of him, back turned to him as he drifts off into the murky blackness.

 

 

Distantly, he hears an eagle cry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting_

_On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;_

_And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,_

_And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;_

_And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor_

_Shall be lifted—nevermore!_

 

[]

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of all the things Mother told us, one thing she could never be sure of was how she came back.

She only tells us about an endless sea with an endless horizon stretching beneath orange skies; the sensation of floating in the waters for what seemed like a long time. Mother would tell us that at the time, she had already made peace with herself, floating forever in an astral sea.

There were a lot of things she didn't understand then, and when she woke up and found herself alive again, she would never have anticipated us coming into her life.

 

 

_Modi._

_Freia._

_Where'd you go?_

 

 

 

_Mother!_

 

Loki is stunned into awareness.

 

[]

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempted abortion so be warned.

Like an impending comet rushing towards the surface of a planet, my brother and I came crashing into our mother's life.  
  
  
[]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_He is floating_  
  
At least, he has the impression that he's floating. The water beneath him, cool and stagnant drifts and seeps into his skin to create that exact sensation of drifting. It laps at his skin, the water turned orange by the sky as if the world itself was trapped forever in eternal dusk.  
   
He inhales for a breath. Strangely, he feels like he doesn't need to. He does it anyway.  
  
The familiar salty air of the ocean tingles his nose, the inhaled air doesn't force his lungs to exhale it again. It stays in him and he feels as if it could last him a lifetime.  
  
_A lifetime, it feels like ages ago._  
  
In this place, no time passes at all. The orange sea remains stagnant and the sky has no end or horizon.  
  
He drifts for millennia, maybe even longer. Maybe none at all.  
  
His eyes are closed. The sky is orange and his eyes paint him the scene without ever opening.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Mother!_  
  
A shrill voice breaks the silence of the place. His eyes are forced open and his lungs heave for breath.  
  
The sea and sky are gone. Loki's brow creases as he looks around again. Straining to hear the voice that broke through that odd mirage.  
  
_I want a walk!_  
  
He turns towards the sound, the disjointed and blurry sound. His feet begin to move without him knowing and he walks the stark land towards the sound.  
  
_I want a walk!_  
  
A child's voice. Like throwing a tantrum at the poor parents. Why was he even hearing this?  
  
  
_Mummy, please!_

  
_Take me out on a walk!_  
  
He comes towards a door. _Strange, it was never there, nothing ever was_  
The doorknob appears just as suddenly when he blinks, silver attached to the white wood of the doorframe. He reaches his hand towards it, fingers inches away from the metal.  
  
_We'll be good, I promise!_  
  
His fingers curl around the doorknob, an invisible force straining against him to make his fingers grip and turn it.  
  
  
"All right, all right."  
  
  
The knob twists easily under his fingers, and the other side greets him with a white blinding light that envelops him completely before he can have any second thoughts.  
  
  
  
_____  
  
  
  
  
One quiet afternoon, my mother was folding some clothes while I sat by and watched her do it. My brother was fast asleep on her lap, lulled by her soft breathing and quiet hums.  
  
I remembered asking her if I was a docile child. If I was ever the child who always listened to her parents.  
  
  
  
"Mummy?"  
  
 "Yes baby?"  
  
"Do I always listen to you?"  
  
It had stopped her dead in her tracks. She bent her head down at first and I had worried if she was sick or something.  
Then she started laughing, snorts and half-giggles caught between breathless breaths.  
  
_Like an impending comet, hurling towards our mother._  
  
  
  
"Darling, you were always a riot from the beginning."  
  
  
  
  
  
____  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_The natural state of motherhood, is unselfishness._  
                                                                     _Jessica Lange_  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
[]  
  
  
  
  
  
The need for breath bites back at him unceremoniously.  
  
His lungs scream at him for breath and his arms flail in the cold water. His eyes scramble quickly up to search for the surface. Quickly, his limbs flail and kick frantically in a mad bid for a breath of fresh air, his legs propelling him up towards the surface.  
  
He breaks the surface of the water, mouth open in a gasp for air. Oxygen comes flowing into his lungs, burning down his air tract and flaring in his respiratory organs. He chokes out some residue seawater and seaweed from his mouth. It takes a moment for his breaths to even out.  
   
It takes a few moments more to collect himself. Still a bit disoriented, he looks around for any sign of land. His eyes, a bit red from opening them in salty sea water, spots a coastline up ahead littered with outlines of buildings and lights.  
  
Buildings. Earth buildings. He was on Earth.  
  
Some unpleasant memories come flowing back into him concerning his last visit to the planet.  
  
_Thanos_  
  
_Ragnarok_  
  
_Ship_

It comes back to him that he should be dead, very dead. He had no contingency plans that time and fate had just decided he'd run out of lives. The Titan had choked him to his death, right in front of...  
  
_Thor_  
  
The thought of him saddens and disgusts him at the same time. He remembers that wretched time he spent on that doomed ship, pining for his brother's love. Then in the maintenance room, because he had grown soft and was riddled with loneliness and guilt, he had let him ra-  
  
_Still lying to yourself I see_  
  
He feels nauseous and he wouldn't mind puking into the ocean right now, but he doesn't. He swims for the distant coastline instead. It takes almost 3 hours and by the time he reaches the shore, his exhausted body flings itself onto the rocky beach. His fingers grasping at the rough sands and his cheeks and hair plastered with sea water and sand.  That nauseous feeling in his stomach a dull ache in his abdomen as he heaved exhausted breaths.  
  
Dusk was falling and the tide would rise soon. Knowing this, he hoisted himself on rather wobbly arms and slowly got up to his feet. He shakes his hair left and right, hoping that it would at least get some of the sand out of his hair.  
  
"Now, where exactly on earth am I?"

 

_Literally_

  
  
His eyes rove around, taking in the scenery and searching for clues. As he ascends the rocky steps up and away from the beach, he could see at the very far end, a signboard. He squints to see it better.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Welcome to Tonsberg, Norway._  
  
_______  
  
  
   
  
Norway, of all places.  
  
Gods know how he ended up almost drowning in the middle of the Nordic sea, on Midgard no less. Maybe if he looked harder, he may even have seen the cliff where Odin had died.  
  
It's almost as his memory had been fiddled with, the moment between his death and his sudden, unexpected resurrection scribbled over. A black, blurry pall over the door to that room in his mind. Just thinking about it makes his head throb, like he was banging a sledgehammer against his brain.  
  
It's getting late he sees, the humans scurry about in their thick coats and walk in and out from bright shops alike. The traffic lights make him almost too sick to stand properly in the shadows of the alleyway.  
  
_I'm a mess._  
  
I need a change, actually. He was still clothed in his leathers from Sakaar. The leather covered with burn marks and some tears here and there. A big tear at the collar, one he had mended after Thor had torn it when he.. they... _Oh forget that._  
   
He had mended it, his magic had. A simple spell like that should've have lasted well, forever. Only a child would be unable to make it last after casting a spell like that. He frowns.  
  
"I needed a change anyway."  
  
With a flick of his fingers, his costume disappears away in a wash of green light. In its place, a black coat and some polished shoes. He doesn't need much, the cold on this planet barely makes his sneeze. He steps out from the alleyway, joining the humans rushing about in the crowd.  
  
He walks about for a bit, following the paths of the cobbled streets without any seeming direction, his shoes clacking about on the hard stones stuck into the grey tar of the road. The city, _town?_ Loki can't quite put out the distinction between the two. New York was a city, with those ugly skyscrapers and black streets with monotonous pedestrians in dull cloaks, the ugliest building, the damned Stark tower seen in the distance in all of its awful architecture. Tonsberg was a little different. Sure there were some tall buildings to be seen overall but the place had some polished stone roads and most shops were like little cottages and houses that lined the streets. City lights like those in Manhattan were scarce, instead, there were some hanging lights with round bulbs of fuzzy light hanging from wires, street lamps rooted equidistant to each other on the side. The shops themselves had some warm, fireside glow to their own shop lights. The air here was different too; there was a natural breeze to mingle with that common earth city stench oozing from the populous. If he sniffed harder, the faint scent of a nearby lake could be taken in by his nostrils.  
  
He keeps walking. As the early hours of the night turned into the late, the streets started to clear. People turning down one side of the road then disappearing. Shops were starting to close up too, their lights extinguished like the dying flickers of a firefly. The whole road has suddenly become very lonely and quiet.  
  
It occurs to him that he would need someplace to stay the night. The nauseous feeling in his stomach cramping and coiling like a string. He grimaces.  
  
_I must have spent too long in the water_  
  
_Does that cause stomach cramps?_  
  
His stomach twists with such a vengeance that he has to steady himself as something attempts to crawl up from his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he forces it down again.  
  
_Place to stay. Right._  
  
His head throbs in response.  
  
[]  
  
  
  
"Let's play king!"  
  
Loki rolls his eyes. He turns back to the book on his lap. Thor jumps from the couch, a blanket turned cape flowing behind him. His blue eyes are shining in that stubborn glint of his. Loki sighs.  
  
"C' mon Loki, I don't want to be stuck in here all day!"  
  
"Then go yourself."  
  
"Where's the fun in that?"  
  
He flips a page." Find it then."  
  
He almost tears through the page when Thor pounces on him from behind. Arms around his neck, cheeks mushed against his black hair. Some strands of golden ones irritating his eyes. He smacks a hand at Thor's face, red with glee and little freckles across his nose.  
  
 Ow! What was that for!?" Loki turns to show him his rather satisfied smirk.  
  
"For almost making me tear my book ."  
  
"Only almost?"  
  
Loki smacks him again. Thor gives another voiceless 'owww' and snorts at him. Loki returns to his book. Thor huffs.  
  
" Please brother? One last time?"  
   
_You always say that_  
  
"I promise it'll be fun. You could even play the king this time!" Out of Thor's view, Loki cracks a small fond smile. His hands rest at the present page of the textbook as he turns to face his big brother. His makes his eyebrows curl up apathetically.  
  
"Really?"  
  
Thor smiles. He beams like the brightest sun. Somehow, the freckles on his nose and cheeks look like a dusting of pink stars.  
  
He wraps his arms around him, face resting on his shoulder. His blue eyes shining in hopeful anticipation.  
  
"Really really."  
  
He rolls his eyes again and closes the book. Thor gives a triumphant laugh and smudges Loki against him, pale cheeks against his star freckled ones.  
  
  
Later, Thor would lead Loki out into the meadow fields behind the palace and make him a crown. A crown woven from the purple and pink flowers growing in the fields. Loki would weave the crown from the green stems first, then Thor would stick the flower heads into it. It would always end up mushed looking, with some limp flowers hanging here and there, but Thor places it on Loki's head proudly like he just carved it out from gold himself.  
  
From his pocket, he retrieves a crumpled paper crown.  
  
"I thought I was king." Thor places the crumpled yellow paper on his head.  
  
"We both are." Loki looks to his flower crown, bits and pieces are already falling off from it.  
  
"Perhaps I'll be a queen instead," he mutters softly.  
  
Thor looks at him for a moment, before smiling and coming to sit himself in front of him. Loki stutters when he takes his hand in his own, his ears starting to burn at the edges.  
  
"Perhaps, little brother, you can be _my_  queen instead," Thor smirks with teeth.  
  
Loki feels how he goes red from head to toe and tackles Thor onto the ground, who laughs and hugs him anyway as he beats his fists against him.  
  
  
  
  
" Just for today, brother."  
  
_I'll be your queen_  
  
[]  
  
  
He walks until he finds one. His magic leading him all the way. It's flickers and stutters at times, and Loki has to recast it as to not lose a potential lead. It ticks him off that his magic is somewhat unstable. Maybe it's the stomach ache sapping his focus from him.  
  
_Yeah, that's it._

**  
** Finally though, after recasting it again for the third time, it flares and tells him that there is a vacant apartment nearby.  
  
Flat more like he thinks as he stares at it. He has to dig through his rather unused archive of Midgardian phrases to find the correct word. Maybe he should try for a bigger housing.  
His stomach cramps horribly again and this time, the desperation to puke is not so easily ignored anymore. He covers his mouth and tips his head back, hopefully, the bile in his mouth will flow back into his stomach. The taste burns in his tongue.  
  
_Fine. As long as it has a working bathroom._  
  
  
Funnily enough, when he realizes that the landlord only left his contact number, he also realizes he has no phone. It takes him another minute or so to find a  public phone, another few for the damned earthling to pick it up.  
  
"You can pay me how much now in cash!?" The woman shrieks through the phone. Loki winces, his stomach doing backflips as he talks through the phone."1,900. In cash, yes I can manage that. Hopefully you can come over now for the transaction?" Money has never much of a problem to him, especially earth currency that can be easily conjured up or turned into, providing one has valuable things lying around. But he's a sorcerer, not some apprentice.  
  
_I'm not going to launder off my belongings just for more wads of useless Midgardian currency._  
  
The shrill landlord or landlady actually comes by quite quickly, looking equally shocked and pleased when Loki hands her the money. Hurriedly, she stuffs it deep into the pocket of her gaudy pink coat. He thinks she must into gambling or something when she's willing to drive from who knows where out here in the late night just for a quick cash grab.  
  
"You know, people who usually stay in these kinds of places pay their rent months late." She comments as they ascend up the stairs to the flat. Loki can only wish that she stops talking soon or he'll have to strangle her first. Her hands shift in her coat pocket constantly, where he knows the money is.  
_Drug addict it is._  He eyes her shrewdly as they walk down a musty hallway. She stops as they reach the end of it, and presents him with a key.  
  
"There's three rooms, telly, one provided bed, a washing machine, running electricity and hot water." She tosses him the key. She smiles a sickly sweet smile that makes his stomach cringe and sick. He wishes she would just stop talking.  
  
"Knock yourself out." She walks away afterward, hands still stuffed in her pink pocket. For Loki, her departure couldn't have come a moment too soon.  
He enters the key into the lock almost too carelessly, the pain in the abdomen making it hard to stand properly. He would probably frown upon it himself, but the pain is leading him elsewhere.  
  
Well, just the bathroom actually.  
  
Frantically, he opens the toilet lid and vomits. The bile and everything in his stomach pouring out in one giant lurch and tastes like rotten flesh. A few more...refuses later, the cramp in his stomach subsides for a moment. Hopefully, forever. But when has he ever been that lucky. His stomach bugs in the past always carried on for a few days at least.  
  
After he's done, he leans his head against the toilet seat, mindful to wipe off any bile before he does do. His hands reach out to grope for the flush and after a few empty gropes, he pulls the cold metal in his hands. He catches his breath as the toilet flushes that horrid mixture of stomach acid and food away.  
  
_God my head hurts._  
   
Didn't that woman say this place had a bed?  
  
Shakily, his hands lean against the toilet seat as he hoists himself up on rather wobbly feet. The stomach ache may be gone, but the headache begs him for some reprieve, or more importantly, sleep.  
  
_Bed, bed, bed._  
  
Finding the room with the bed saps more energy from him that he would have previously thought. The room looks dusty, unkempt with a few pieces of furniture like a cupboard and a table and not much else. When he opens the third door, the one closest to the living room, its no better that the last room. But it at least, has a bed. He eyes the white scratchy sheets doubtfully.  
   
He pinches his nose as he attempts to will away the throb in his head.  
  
_Tonight. Just tonight._  
  
Without much thought, he falls headfirst into the grey pillow and drifts off into a sleep wracked with dreams.  
  
[]  
  
  
  
The palace library was a big section of the castle, one that Loki was very familiar with. It had been a hot summers day when Thor followed him into the library. He was bored and looked completely indignified, his broken arm hanging limply in its cast.  
  
Loki couldn't help but smirk. Thor had looked absolutely livid at him, red-faced like an overly ripe tomato.  
  
"I told you you couldn't make that jump."  
  
"Shut up brother."  
  
Thor tailed behind him as they trailed towards the archives of the library. Thor slumped down sullenly onto the large wooden table as he rounded the archives for the books he wanted. Satisfied, he sat down on the chair next to a sulking Thor and began reading. It was quiet, the occasional flip of dusty pages by his hand and soft stutter of the candle lamps tingling his eardrums; the soft mutters of a very unhappy Thor. He continues reading.  
  
A few moments later, an annoyed grunt can be heard from the other prince, who rests his head on his folded arm on the table. Thor's eye dart to and fro as Loki continues to read. He never liked being ignored so openly. His pen strokes go off the page in an inky black line as Thor knocks into him like an angered bull, crowding into his space.  
  
"Thor!" Loki's shout breaks the silence of the library, the lamp on the table flickering with his voice.  
  
"What? You were ignoring me!"  
  
"I was not! I was reading you, buffoon!"  
  
"Which means you were ignoring me!" Thor pouts. Loki looks at his ruined diagram and notes, irritated. He glares back at Thor, who glares back and seems so sure that he was right.  
  
_Well maybe. I did always enjoy ignoring a very frustrated Thor._  
  
Well, he's not going to admit that, when Thor would surely tackle him to the ground for it. Loki sighs.  
  
"You ruined my notes Thor. I'll need to redo it again and you'll spend an even longer time being ignored." Thor's blue eyes go wide like round saucers as his mouth opens in an insulted gasp.  
  
"You were ignoring me!" Loki rolls his eyes and attempts to walk away to search for some parchment to write on again. But Thor's arms grab onto his sleeve and Loki turns to glare at him, or to scold him some more.  
  
Thor looks so genuinely miserable when he turns sharply to scold him some more that his lips close before he can say anything.  
_He's never been one to sit still. All that reckless and bright energy burning in him, it must hurt when he can't use it.*_  
  
"Please Loki, can we do something together today?" Thor pleads with his blue, saucer eyes, bright like the noonday sun shining outside.  
  
_Insufferable, all too warm. Loki never liked Asgardian summers._  
  
_Then again, maybe it was because Thor doesn't really spend it with him anymore._  
  
So when Thor says he wants to spend time with him, Loki gives him an unamused frown, arms still caught in Thor's grasp.  
   
"With me? Wouldn't you rather go find your friends than spend time with your boring little brother?" He replies, giving a doubtful huff as he turns his face away from Thor. A stuffy feeling starts to fill his throat, one that constricts his chest and makes his eyes watery. Like the time he realized Thor never noticing him not sneaking in to visit him in his room anymore, or the time when Thor decided to play King with Sif instead of him. The time when he chose Fandral, _Fandral_  over him for his first expedition in the enchanted woods. He cried then, his brother's slight a fresh dagger to his heart. It still is.  
  
His frown deepens, but Thor doesn't see it. And the buffoon never knew how to read the mood. He continues to plead, big blue eyes staring at him, pulling him in like a star to a planet.  
  
"Please Loki?"

  
  
_He's always pulled in, even if the whole star is gone, his planet would still be there._

  
  
"I hate you." Behind him, Thor smiles, white perfect teeth save for a little annoying gap showing. Loki can only sigh.  
  
"No, you don't brother."

  
  
_No, I don't, but I really should._

  
  
"C' mon brother, just this once?" Loki can't help roll his eyes dramatically. It seems like they are always doing this.  
  
"You always say that."

  
  
Thor smiles even wider, he pulls Loki in and turns him so they face each other. His cheeky grin shines like the brightest sun.  
  
"And you'll say yes anyway."

 

  
  
  
  
_I never learn._  
  
[]  
  
  
 That stomach bug never went away.  
  
  
In fact, it seems to have made a permanent residence in himself. It had become the whim in which his moods were reliant on and worse, his appetite.  
  
Some days, his stomach would shrivel to a deflated balloon. Anything that went down, was rejected almost instantly and had him rushing towards the toilet in breakneck speed, bent over and heaving for breath. Then tomorrow or a day after, he would be so famished that he could eat whole boxes of pizzas and cereal without stopping. His appetite has become mercurial, and his body doesn't seem to his anymore.  
  
His sleep never recovered since the first night. At first, he thought maybe it was the uncomfortableness of the whole situation; he had felt really claustrophobic for the first few nights. The bed was small and his legs would almost hang over the edge, the bedsheets scratchy and threadbare. His moods swing from irritated to absolutely miserable in the span of a whole minute, which only made him more frustrated and irritated at the same time. And even if he did manage to catch some shut-eye for a few hours, it would end with him tossing and turning off the bed in a shower of sweat.  
  
It wasn't any different tonight. He had woke, drenched in sweat and tears, falling off the itchy bed in an abrupt fashion. His heart stuck in his throat and his lungs gasping for breath.  
  
_Held in a purple fist, squeezing and constricting, unable to breathe. Air escaping him as the bones in his neck creak and snaps-_  
  
His stomach rumbles and he has to hold his breath lest his retches onto the bedroom floor.  
  
_Bathroom, bathroom_  
  
He rushes to the bathroom and without turning on the lights, retches into the toilet bowl. He can taste the soup he had yesterday mixed with stomach acid burning on his tongue.

  
_God I'm a fucking mess._  
  
The toilet stinks something awful, and he thinks the landlady may have lied about the plumbing, wretched lying whore. His hair stinks almost just as bad, an oily curtain of tangled black curls that stick out at the ends like a fuzzy cat.  
  
 I really need a bath."

  
_Oh, you need something more than that_

  
"Shut up."  
  
  
He proceeds to flush the toilet, then flicks his fingers to turn the switch on with magic. One, two, three flicks and wisps of magic stutter and flicker. The bathroom remains in darkness. He snaps his fingers again and his magic splutters and dies. He lets out a scream of frustration.  
  
His magic has been really unstable lately. Performing even the simplest of spells have become a matter of vexing frustration. It is as if his magic has faded in the face of his stomach bug. It makes him want to tear his hair out in a fit of anger.  
  
_Or perhaps it's something else._  
  
The headaches maybe? Maybe.  
  
He lets out a long sigh as he gets up to switch on the lights. The lamp on the ceiling flickers into the life and he has to blink his eyes to adjust to the blinding light. He starts to undress, peeling off his clothes that stick to his skin with his cooling sweat.  
As he passes the mirror, he stops and stares at himself.  
  
His skin is paler than usual. His eyes hollowed and dull, ringed with lines of fatigue and restless nights and there are purple finger like marks on his neck.  
  
Then again, he always has been pale and wispy.  
   
_Oh but never like this. Admit it, you look like a ghost, whose skin looks about to collapse in on itself._  
  
 He's just tired, he hasn't been sleeping well.

  
_Among other things_  
  
  
_Something is wrong with you._  
  
Loki can only laugh. He turns on the shower above the bathtub and watches it fill the tub.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_There's always something wrong with me_  
  
______  
   
   
   
   
   
 " _I want more food!"_  
  
  
  
  
  
He wakes up naked in the tub an hour later. His headache has cleared and his stomach is growling again.  
  
He hasn't restocked the fridge three days ago.  
  
  
  
" I miss having servants."  
  
[]  
  
  
  
The mall is a cacophony of noises and human traffic.  
  
The gaudy lights, the smell of the week-old meat and fish is overpowering. He envies the humans, their dulled senses will forever be unable to pick up on it. He pinches his forehead as the headache attempts to crawl up into his head again. Tampering it down, he walks into the mall.  
  
He picks out a trolly and drags it along with him as he enters the grocery department. Passing the cereal section, he tosses the boxes down into the trolley without even looking. Down the dry food aisle, he tosses some cans of soup into the pile. Coffee, microwavable meals, pickles, milk......  
  
By the time he pushes the trolley to the counter, it stuffed and piled so high that even the fridge can't be able to hold all of it. A few people behind him in the line stares rather unsubtly.  
  
  
_Humans_  
  
  
The cashier looks a tad bit terrified when she scans box after box of assorted cereals and biscuits. Loki gives her a dark glare when she almost seems to attempt asking him the reason. She shrivels immediately and shakily counts the change before handing the wad of cash to him.  
  
  
  
  
It's late evening when he gets home and he drops the bags onto the coffee table in the living room. He rifles through the plastic bags and fishes out a tube of biscuits. He peels the wrapping and starts stuffing the crumbly, round things into his mouth. Somehow, he can't taste any of it but some invisible force is guiding him to do it. He reaches into the plastic bag again, picking out a can of soup, proceeding to open the can with his bare hands. Still hungry, he dunks the rest of the biscuits into the soup like breadsticks and gorges himself on it.

  
  
_Something is wrong with you._  
  
  
_It's an upset stomach, a temporary bug that'll go away eventually._

  
_Temporary? You lie to yourself, it's been weeks._  
  
  
_It's a persistent stomach bug_  
  
  
  
_Really? It's that all there is?_  
  
  
The errant thought stops him in his tracks. He realizes he hasn't even cooked the open can of soup yet, his hunger clouding his sensibilities all together. His appetite is a crazy swing, going from ravenous to retching up everything the same day. His whole internal clock has been turned upside down. He sleeps through the afternoon and vomits in the toilet at night, sleeps through the night and wakes up again the next evening. His physical appearance has been degrading, almost on par with the time he had been a prisoner on the Mad Titan's Sanctuary. His skin looks paler than marble and his hair is like a rough tangle of thick threads.  
  
He starts laughing quietly, the sound it of echoing coldly in the empty living room.  
  
  
"That is not possible."  
  
  
_Oh but it is. Remember when you let him have you? He left his seed in you and it-_  
  
  
" No. That's not...I'm not even sure if I'm not steri-"  
  
  
_You don't need to. Now you already know._  
  
  
"No, that's ludicrous...that's just...it-"Breaths come to him in short gasps and he struggles to get on a grip on his wild heartbeat. The tube of biscuits are left rolling on the floor, forgotten as terrible cold sweeps over him. His hand grips the armrests of the couch as if it could keep him anchored to reality.  
_Oh but this is reality._

  
  
"I'm not.."

  
  
"I can't be...it's not.."

 

  
  
"It's impossible... improbable it's...."  
  
_The truth?_

  
  
He collapses onto the floor, eyes brimmed over with panicked and confused tears. His fingers scratch at the worn, wooden boards of the floor.  
  
  
  
"I'm not pregnant."  
  
  
His fingers scratch against the floorboards like talons and he wills his tears to remain where they are. If he lets them fall, he would already have been admitting to the truth.

  
  
_Fool, you just did_

  
  
The tears slip out and sobs start to wrack his shuddering frame, bent over on the floor. He feels like the universe's smallest child, frightened; confused.  
  
_Pregnant. With Thor's child, his bastard child. A child he doesn't even know exists._  
   
He laughs through his dripping tears, the sound as cold as the Jotunheim winters. The night had really taken a drastic turn.  
The child, as it seems, had been the root cause of all his recent sickness. His headaches, his foul moods, his appetite, his stomach _bug-_

  
No, not a bug. A child. A child that its unwitting father had put in him, a child he didn't want.

  
  
_I never learn. I should've stabbed him, pushed him away and ran. No, I should've just run the moment Asgard blew apart. Now look where I've ended up._  
  
  
  
  
He can feel it now, the constant, nauseous twist in his stomach that he had simply written off as a stomach bug. Now, he knows what it is, for what it really is. A child of Thor and his own, its arrival and existence unseen and all too shocking for him to bear it all alone. How could he tell Thor? How would he? How could he say anything to anyone  
He can only laugh, thinking about Thor's reaction if he knew. _Oh Thor your little brother is carrying your bastard child._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Oh, he doesn't know. _No one does._  

  
  
_Oh_

  
  
The thought breaks him out of his bubble of despair, an idea conjuring in his mind. It makes him stare wide into the blank wall of the living room, the tube of biscuits that have rolled across the length of the room.  
  
_I could get rid of it and no one would know._  
  
He is stunned by his thoughts and his fingers tremble as he goes to war with himself. His mind screaming at himself to rid himself of it because it would be better; he didn't want it, he has never wanted a child.  
  
_Still lying to yourself?_  
   
Even if he did want it, Thor wouldn't. He had merely engaged in the act in the spur of the moment, fueled by anger and frustration. He had lost all the love Thor once had for him and this child was definitely not borne out of love.  
  
_You don't know that._  
  
His magic has not completely flickered out yet, if he focused enough he could still conjure a magicked dagger. Then he could...

  
Calmly, he calls upon his magic. It stutters like the sputtering of a dying engine before he focuses on it again and a green fire burns into the life as it slowly molds into the shape of a dagger. The thing solidifies in his hands, the metal cold and unforgiving. He stares at it, the weapon in his hand uncaring and ready to commit the secret crime. He gets up to sit in the floor, legs curl underneath the upper length of his body. He grips the dagger tighter.  
  
It would be better. No one knows, no one needs to. He would be free finally, of the sickness, of  _Thor._  
  
_The star his planet revolves around has long since gone, now all he needs is to cut that final, tenuous thread of gravity that binds him._  
  
Yes. Yes. It would be better. It will be better. He would be free. He aims the dagger towards his abdomen, the tip dangerously close to the exposed skin of his stomach. Easy, it would be easy. Just plunge it in and the green fire of the magic would help him rid of it, he wouldn't even feel anything.  
   
_It would kill it. His and Thor's unborn child. He would never know its face, if he or she resembled their thunder God father. Or if their baby's hair would flow like Thor's youthful golden locks, the perfect picture of an Aesir prince._  
  
His fingers grip tighter onto the dagger but his hands shake uncontrollably, as if aware of the murder it's about to help commit.  
  
_Little feet running about, with chubby little hands reaching out. Big blue eyes like the summer sky staring._

  
_You would kill it?_

  
  
_An innocent child?_

  
  
_Your child?_

 

  
"Stop. Stop it! Leave me alone!"

  
  
  
_You are._

  
  
He bends him on himself as he lets out a scream, the dagger in his hands trembling in his failing grasp. Slowly, it slips out from his pale fingers as the stress of the past few weeks leaves him sagging and curling on himself. He slumps onto the floor, knocking the plastic bags on the table and a few cans of biscuits come falling out of it and rolls out on the floor. Quiet tears slip out from him as he lies on the floor; terrified and utterly alone. He closes his eyes shut and lets out a tremulous sigh. The conjured dagger remains forgotten, left out of sight.  
  
  
  
  
  
"What am I going to do?"  
  
  
  
_I know almost nothing about children, much less raising one._  
  
  
  
  
_Well, suppose you'll just have to learn huh?_  
  
  
  
He remembers the two presently unoccupied rooms and lifts himself up from the floor. The dagger is gone.  
  
  
" It'll need a place to sleep I suppose."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Well, its a start._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A start yes, the start of a very long journey indeed. One that our mother would never forget, in all those months and years that would come when we would arrive into her life in an abrupt fashion, as we had appeared.  
  
  
[]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
          _The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before._

_The woman existed, but the mother, never._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
                             

_A mother is something entirely new._  
  
[]  
  
 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So before we begin, there's a few things I would like to clarify as to hope you guys won't be confused reading this chapter.
> 
> 1\. So all the Thor chapters will be structured like this. I wanted to explore both Thor's mental health and state of mind. So if you're confused about anything, feel free to ask! :)
> 
> 2\. One thing you will notice as in chapter two, the first chapter in Thor's story, there is the beach scene that I always write about. I got a few comments about being confused and I figured the beach scene was kinda the tip off. Well for tips, the beach scene is not real; it's all in Thor's mind and represents his mental state at a particular time. It was a different kind way to write things and I wanted to try it.  
> :)
> 
> 3\. The scenes jump back and forth and there some things a particular characters says that holds great significance. To get it better, I would advise the reader to read the previous chapters as to get bigger picture. :) As in this chapter, there are a few things that readers would only get if they've read the first chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> 4\. Also this is a slowburn with discussions and depictions of some mental problems and depression. So if you're into fluff, I advise you not to read this. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Also also, remember the starting part of infinity war? Im pretty sure it was Loki, and it if isn't well, that's what fanfiction is for.
> 
>  
> 
> Thx for reading. I hope you enjoy this another crappy chapter! :)

[]

"What powers do you think we'll get Loki?"

"What?"

"Powers, you know, like Father has the Odinforce and Mother her weaving magic."

"What do you think I'll have?"

"You don't get one."

Thor turns to Loki, incredulous. The latter lies on his back beside him, eyes scanning the star dotted sky.

"Why? Father and Mother have theirs!"

"You already have it."

Thor sits up, excitement lighting up the flicker in his eyes.

"What is it?"  


"Forgetting. Forgetting is your superpower, Thor."

______  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Forgetting is just forgetting. Except when it's not. Then they call it something else._

_"I'd like to forget what you did. I've tried."_  
  
  


_"But I can't."_

[]

Those five years flies past like dust on the wind. He forgets them easily, each day blurring from the foreboding dawn to the bittersweet relief of dusk.

And him?

Well, he sits there still. A shadow whoose's back had blended in with the wooden walls of the rickety house.

He forgets.

Almost.

[]

The sea is calm today. The cliffs hanging over him, grey and cracked, almost as if it would start to crumble any moment.

The wind smells salty and as he looks to sky, he sees no sun nor cloud. His eyes drift back towards the grey rocks of the cliff behind him.

Something calls for him, the howl of the sea wind whistling to him. The grey cliffs curled liked a beckoning, bony finger over his head.

He walks to it, his bare feet skidding across rough sand. The rocky wall of the cliff looms in front him as he approaches it.

The wind howls.

Thor wrinkles his nose, the saltiness of the air making his stomach flip.

"Look."

It did not occur to him that there was no one else with him, no one to speak but him. He squinted at the grey, crackly canvas in front of him.

"Look."

He does. His eyes trailing over the lines and indents on the rock more closely. As he does, the grayer lines and cracks of the cliff seem to bleed into darker lines. The darker lines drew up and curved, raw, trembly shapes gradually becoming barely distinct.

He swipes his fingers across the canvas, digits catching dust of old sea winds and ancient sands. The layer of dust brushed off by his blackened fingers to reveal an....

Eye.

"Look."

Blue. Blue and bright like the meadow poppies and lilies. It pierces into him, gouges it's claws into his mind like an anchor unto the bottom of the sea. His mind starts to unravel, something akin to sanity seeping from his brain as his body becomes suddenly all too light; his head swells like a hot air balloon. The world starts to swivel around him, the lonely eye staring back at him.

_Look_

The eye almost look familiar, he thinks. Fingers grasp and flounder at the air, scrabling at the cliff wall until his nails bleed into the blue of the murral's eye.

_Look_

_I've forgotten_

The world blacks out in a sizzle of sound.

_____

He hadn't wanted for them to visit, but figured he would just let it pass.

Besides, his house is not really one for entertaining guests. Korg and Miek never cleans it, so there are stacks of pizza boxes that are starting to pile at the corner, wrappers strewn across the creaking wooden floorboards of the tipping cottage. Half of the time, it smells of seaweed and drunken breaths.

Korg and Miek doesn't mind. They go about their own merry carefree way in this wayward and upturned existence, seemingly oblivious to the wretched state of everything else. So, Thor lets them stay.

They never criticize, never pity, and they never linger. They let him be,and lets him forget.

But Banner doesn't. Rocket doesn't. They bring with them the misery and the wretchedness of everything else out there, and Thor is terrified.

He's just too out of his mind to show it. So he babbles.

"You look like melted ice cream."

_I know I do._

He hasn't worked out in well, years. He looks a pathetic, overbloated version of his past self. He finds that he doesn't mind, the past isn't something he wants anything to do with anymore. Besides, he thinks inwardly, the memory of his past self had already faded, it only takes time for it to completely turn to dust.

So he smiles and laughs, tells both of them about the cable. Helps out Korg with that damned kid on Fortnite, yelling into the headpiece and telling him to piss off. Rocket and Banner, their eyes hard with the burdens of shouldering reality and looking almost bewildered and unbelieving of the entire situation.

_Funny how life's turned out eh?_

_I've stopped fighting against it long ago._

_No, no. Don't ask me that._

"We've found a way, Thor."

_So what._

" To reverse what Thanos did."

" We need you buddy."

The mention of the name makes him sick to the gut. Something like anger clouding over his blissful euphoria of ignorance, something seeping through it's pores. _And Thor is terrified, terrified, terrified..._

_You have no right_

_Stop, stop, stop._

It makes him remember, when he would rather forget and continue to float in his frail framework of something of a life, no matter how little semblance to his past or his previous persona. _After all, was it not what he wished for?_

Misery starts to take over him, and his fear leaks out of him from it's cramped cage inside.

"Don't. Say. That. Name." he trembles. He wants to scream at them to get out because no, they had absolutely no rights to barge in into his life. Because no, he didn't need a reminder of what he had become. No, he didn't need them to attempt and try to patch him up like some broken doll. He could've never be whole again, so let it be he thinks. Let it be.

_What good will it do? All that effort and heartbreak, to end up where he is now._

_Let it all fade away._

_Let it die._

Banner's look of knowing sympathy, Rocket saddened and helpless eyes. His own haggard reflection staring back at him from the mirror. And Thanos's head, roiling onto the bloodied ground.

And a pale shadow in the distance, it's edges blurred and black. An omen from times past, it's own brand of misery and pain.

Let it all die.

"If you come, there's beer on the ship." Rocket suggests.

___________  
  
  
  
  
  


_But I'm already dead._

 

 _Or did you forget?_  
  
  
  


[]

He follows the eagle flying overhead in the distance.

The sea is calm today, not even a wave crashing upon sandy shores.

Then far ahead, he sees someone. A young boy, dressed in green with a crown of raven hair, skin pale and a little reddish from the sun.

Something in him wants to call out to him, to catch the boy's attention. He opens his mouth.

He doesn't know what to say.

He turns and runs away.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

_Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;_

_And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor._

  _Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow_

    _From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—_

_For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—_

             _Nameless here for evermore._

[]  
  
  


Thor is, all at once, hateful and grateful towards Rocket for dragging him here.

His home, stood as it once was; proud, golden and bright in it's peaceful heyday. One that has lasted for centuries, one build on blood and lust and lies and the anger of a forgotten god.

Sister.

Thor can't help wondering, imagining what's it was like for Hela in her day. When the Allfather had shared her bloodlust and molded her into his executioner's axe. When the once mighty hammer he wielded was hers, and when it had been used to conquer and destroy.

Walking through his home now, armed with the heavy knowledge of truth, is all at once painful and surreal.

And unlike his past, his once reckless and self-sacrificing self, grief has turned him a coward. Grief and denial shields him from those hard truths he cannot admit to; the drunkenness clouding his mine and making the world foggy. A world where he sees what he only wants to see.

_Don't make me see_

_Don't make me see_

Hurriedly, he toddles away from the dungeons, the occupants inside blurred and blotted.

 _Don't make me see_  


His dead mother's hand on his cheek is like a slap to the face. Thor shudders with the contact. The soft, warm old skin that has soothed his so many times when she was alive; now for the first and last in death.

A ghost of the past that he is unable to forget.

_Forgetting is just forgetting._

_" It's not so hard."_

" You should leave the sneaking to your _b-_ "

_Except when it's not._

" Thor? Thor darling?"

His mother's voice break him from his reverie, her dead hands, so alive, are now both cradling his fat and oily cheeks. Her smile is both the epitome of the joys of life and the cold blade of death, and she speaks with the wisdom only he knows the Allmother has.

"The future has not been kind to you, has it?"

_No_

_Yes_

_No_

_Yes_

" I'm fine, no look- I'm just fine."

_No_

_No_

_No_

_No_

_No_

"Try some salad." Frigga says to him before he leaves.

__________  
  


 

 

_You forgot_

 

 

 

_How could you_

 

 

 

 

_How could you_

[]

In the end, Stark reminds him of himself. He had died selflessly, surrounded by familiar faces and the relief of having did it and giving his best.

The only difference is everything. Because in the end, he had not done it. And he did not die, no matter how he had wished for it. For all his strength and godhood, he had collapsed surrounded by purple flames and the evidences of his failures.

In the end, he was left in a fate worse that death. With sickening jealousy in his heart, he envies Stark who died the hero's death.

All the laments of a sick and broken man.

_________

"You're being serious." Valkyrie realizes with a grim face. Thor fiddles with his shades, caught between his worn fingers.

"It's time to be who I am, rather that who I'm supposed to be."

Valkyrie contemplating, turns to look out to the sea. The sea breeze, salty, warm,blows against their long tangled hair. Below, the waves crash against the cliff rocks. The tide is falling.

"And who is that, if I may so ask?"

The waves gives another loud crash against the cliff rocks below. Like the thunder that portends an ominous storm.

"I'll tell you later."

__________

Finding some purpose, making some sense of life again is hard. His inner compass is far too broken to use, and he can only rely on his mind. Nowadays, it's far less reliable. All those years spent wallowing in self pity and misery, bouts of anger and grief and the incoherent mutters of a drunkard spouting half truths. He's glad that he doesn't remember.

It's better now. I can put it behind me, all of it.

Forgetting is easy, it's easy.

___________

Thor knows the discomfort he causes to Peter. The man still squirms and shields away from the wound in his pride. It amuses him, to some degree that sometimes he lords over him intentionally.

He likes Drax. The big, burly man has much in common with him, brawn and all. The rabbit is sweet with his gruff concern and crude remarks. All in all, a fun bunch. Though sometimes, he misses Korg's weird form of comedy over Rabbit's high pitched insults and laughs at the poor human onboard. The man often has his green lover on his mind and together they search for her.

Mantis, on the other hand, he is unsure. Unsure that if it is he who is terrified of her, or if it is he that terrifies her. Because her large eyes grow larger in some unknown emotion when he is near, swirls of black ink that pierce the soul. Her lips tight in a clench and her hands clutching the other, as to contain the heaviness of the air that passes between them. Her shy, furtive and almost worried glances make him worry. Terrified?

Perhaps he is imprinting on the poor telepath, and she is amplyfling it. Thinking this, Thor takes measures to stay out of her way.

The days drag on as the company drifts through space. Tonight, the clock shows 5 to midnight and Thor finds himself suffering from another bout of insomnia without proper liquor. Rocket has banned that from him now. Without it, his slumber would be filled with dreams and things he would not bring to light. It is that fear that keeps him awake.

Tonight, the main cabin is empty. The others retired in their own bunks. Only the hum of the ship's engine to be heard in the dead silence.

 

 

_While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,_

_As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door._

_“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—_

             _Only this and nothing more.”_

 

 

 

" Oh."

Mantis's voice makes him turn to face it, her voice like a whisper in the void of the cabin. Her downcast eyes and her wringing hands makes Thor feels things he wishes not too.

Still, he tries. " Are you alright Lady Mantis?"

" Yes," She hesitates before continuing, eyes still meek and downcast.

"Are you alright?"

Thor smiles, feeling a hundred light years away from it. " I'm fine yes."

Mantis look unsured at him, her black eyes roaming across the entirety of his frame, her antenna glowing in the dim light. Thor hopes beyond hope that she's not reading him.

He wouldn't know what she would see.

She moves closer, much to Thor's surprise. He attempts not to cringe as her big eyes come closer into view, the lines on her forehead creasing in worried thought. Her hands are clutched together, her skin taut  from the tension of her grip. She hesitates at first, unsure.

"There is something."

"Something I can't put my finger on."

_There's nothing_

She blinks, her antenna pointing in his direction, glowing.

" It's a something that I can't see." Thor swallows, voicing his thought earlier. "There is nothing." Suddenly, she places a hand onto his shoulder. The touch burns as if it was a red hot poker in the place of her gentle fingers. Thor wants to push her off, but fears that he would break her with his strength.

_You break things so easily._

_Never long enough to keep_

"You won't see it," She whispers, her finger gripping onto his threadbare hoodie, tighter and tighter. His lungs start to fill with lead as some unknown dread fills his body. Her black, black eyes pierces into his frayed mind. His hands trembles against the need to push her off, roughly.

"You don't want to see it."

In a fit of desperation, Thor shoves her off. Mantis stumbles to maintain her balance as her hands wrapped around her middle. His panic is quickly replaced by regret and guilt. He stares helplessly at the stricken woman pushed across the room. He shallows.

" F-Forgive me. I overstepped."

And for moment, she looks to him in fear and looks half a mind to run off. But it is only for a moment.

"N-no...no. Rocket has told me that sometimes I can't read the mood." Her arms uncurl from it's hug around her waist. Thor doesn't know how to answer.  
She places her hands at her sides, this time.

"Will you allow me to say this, Thor?" Mantis asks.

_No_

" Forgetting is just forgetting. Except when it's not," He does not look at her. " There's a difference. When you forget something, it's just gone."

She continues and although she says in it a soft tone, meant to advise, Thor feels like he is being evicted of commiting a crime.

"You don't forget. At least, there some things you want to, but can't."

"It's still there inside of you, leaking out of you in waves of guilt and regret. One day, they will find you."

"And you won't be able to run anymore."

Thor walks, not runs he tells himself, past her, ignoring her soft and pitying eyes boring into his back. Somehow, he'll find where the rabbit has hid the drinks.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain_

_Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;_

    _So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating_

    _“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—_

_Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—_

            " _This it is and nothing more.”_

[]

The sky is gloomy, the horizon littered with thunderclouds. The sea rumbles and churns with the strong wind. The tide, he can see, is rising.

Quickly, he scrambles for shelter. Arm covering the side of his face from the growing sprays of seawater of the crashing waves.

Walking on and on, he sees to his right, the lower cliff rocks opening to form an opening. A cave. He runs towards it.

Inside it, Thor can hardly see. The darkness of the cave blotting everything from sight.

Outside, the storm rages on, growing and growing.

[]

The company makes a stop at Nowhere to pick up some supplies. The place bustles with life again, albeit some of the badder kind; criminals and black market dealers. The Collector's block all but blown to shreds, rubble and broken glass shelves left in it's wake. Some collections are gone, some dead; their carcasses rotting and perfuming the air with stench of rot.

The place feels a bit lesser than it was, Rocket mummurs.

The Snap has left it's aftereffects everywhere, it seems.

While the others go off on their own errands, Thor wanders off on his own. Through the back alleys lit with dingy lights, people passing him dressed in grey cloaks and full cloths. Sometimes, he spots a few children running about. He acts cautiously as they run pass him, remembering seeing them snatching things from pockets as they swish pass without notice.

He drifts for a while, occasionally looking at the time on the communicator Rocket has given him. Pass another alley, he finds himself before a pawn shops of shorts, trading in stuff for scrap and junk. He finds wandering becoming a bit monotonous, so he goes in without much thought.

 

The shop smells funky, rusted iron and layers of dust stuffing the air. The shop, much like the downtrodden alleyways, are dimmly and poorly lit. Lightbulbs hanging from wires suspended above the ground, the lights flicking and stuttering. The counter seems empty, only an old fan blowing into an empty seat.

There are shelves stuffed with all sorts of stuff. Some scrapable, some just weird memorabilia meant to catch some passing eye  Some just, indiscernible. Past the memorabilia shelves, the back shelves older and it's steel more rusted, are boxes filled with tapes and disks. Black boxes.

Thor stops at the one labelled with stringy ink.

( Lost and found: Space in general)

The boxes is filled with black boxes that look the same. Thor's breath disturbs the layer of dust on them.

_Unidentified origin. Registeration#437074 &:32_&:_

_Corrupted: Last recording recovered: 16.67.8999._

Thor presses the button on the corner.

  
Static.

Static.

" _Thi-ugee-ves-under-assaul-peat-unde-life-su-ng-_ "

 

_No_

 

" _Life su-iling. Requesting aid fro-I repeat this is-war-essel- families-aid-fro-un-_ "

" _I repeat- not-craft-_ "

 

_No_

_No_

_Stop_

_Stop_

 

"- _Gardian- lies_ "

 

_Stop_

_Don't make me see_

_Don't make me see_

_Don't make me see_

 

" _-aid- any-few-ders-_ "

 

"Stop."

Thor is distantly aware of hyperventilating, the world around blurred like an oil painting. His ears feels as if he was deep underwater, the crushing weight of the water above him crushing his eardrums. His lungs set on fire from the lack of air.

And a static voice, is all his dulled senses are telling him.

" _aid-ort fai-ygen leve-fallin-you-you-y-ai-_ "

_Stop_

_Stop_

_Stop_

" _Requesting-nearb-you-you-you-yo-_ "

_Stop_

_Stop_

_Stop_

_Stop_

" _-you-you-you-you-you-_ "

" No, don't."

" _-you-yuo-y-forg-e_ "

" Please, no...."

" _-me-m-mmm-eeeee-m-e-_ "

Frantic, his fingers scrambles for the play button, pushing against it in frantic need. But no matter how hard he pushes it, the recording continues to play. In limbo; looping and looping and looping and.....

" _-you-y-forg-t-do-'t-f-rget-ca-_ "

He is calling me. Calling me. They are calling me.

 

 

 

 

_From hell._

"L-"

Thor blacks out.

[]

 

 

 

"I'd like to forget what you did. I've tried"

 

 

"But I can't."

 

 

 

 

You forgot me

 

 

 

 

  
How could you?

 

 

 

 

 

_How could you!?_

 

 

 

 

 

"And you won't be able to run anymore."  
  
  
  
  
  


_"I can't remember his name."_

_________

"Thor, buddy, you awake?"

Rocket's furry face comes slowly to focus, as does the other's faces. He finds them surrounded by a ring of people, onlookers staring at the scene.

It's then he realizes that he had made a scene.

The shop is gone from where it once stood, destroyed. Smokes sizzling from fried wires and burning metal. The shopkeeper, Thor presumes, is shouting angrily at Quill who pinches the bridge of his nose constantly.

" Di-did I do that?"

"Yes, you don't remember? How could you not? It was like a light show."

" A display of true power." Drax adds, both impressed and astounded.

" That's not the point pea brain."

" No, there was only lighting and no points."

Thor gets up as Rocket and Drax starts to bicker and shout. Some onlookers start to scatter. Thor notices a young boy turning away, his eyes green and his face dirty, lingering on his haggard form before turning away.

"Hey you! You better have a good explanation for frying my shop you fat fuck!" Quill and Drax have to physically manhandle the blue man from punching him in the face.

" I- I dont-" Thor catches Mantis in the corner of his eyes. Knowing, sad. He finds himself still clutching the black box in his hand. His fingers seem to quake and burn.

And for the first time in a long time, forgetting doesn't have the same result he wants anymore. Or because it never has.

" I don't remember."

And for the first time in a while, it scares him more than when he does.

Guilt and dread fills his throat. Guilty. Guilty.

 

 

_Guilty_

________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The storm blows furious outside the cave. So much so that Thor is scared, clutching himself tightly to hold his shaking.

Then a deep rumble bellows from the other dark end of the cave, like the rush of running water. Thor stands up.

But not fast enough to outrun the water as it spews out from the cave and washes him out entirely.

_______  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,_

_Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;_

    _But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,_

    _And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”_

_This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—_

             _Merely this and nothing more._

[]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


" C'mon Loki. Mother would want us back soon."

Thor lifts himself from his defeated brother, his hair and face dusted with dirt and grass. They had brawled soon after Loki had intentionally teased him, knocking each other to the ground. Thor bites his lip as to not laugh at Loki under him. A snigger escapes past his lips.

 

Loki, red-faced kicks him square in the chest. Getting up, he chases Thor all the way back to the palace.

[]


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Loki chapter again. Again, some reference to previous chapters ;D. Enjoy!!

_[]_

_"Liar"_

_"Trickster"_

  _"Sickly"_

_"Betrayer"_

_"Jotun"_

_"Brother"_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_"Mother"_

[]

Gentle rays of light pierces through his eyes. Groggily, he opens his eyes. Tries to, at least. His eyelids stuck together and refuses to open for first few attempts. His fingers pry them open and he is blasted with immediate regret and blinding light. He gives out an audible groan.

Some light breeze blows in through the curtains, chilly as it smooths past his skin. It's feels clammy, warm and cold at the same time. Which is weird, because the latter had never been able to be felt by him.

He ups himself promptly on one arm, his eyes beginning to take stock of the surroundings.

A tube of biscuits laid, rolled to the opposite wall of the living room, it's contents spilled out onto the floor. Crumbs flecking and rolling with the soft breeze. Turning behind, there are bags on the table, half slumping with the weight of the cans and tins inside. One half open on the tabletop, it's contents cold and looking spoiled from prolonged exposure to the air.

"Did I fall asleep? How?"

He attempts to smooth back the curls falling over his eyes, but his fingers pull at the way, way tangled threads and at his scalp and he hisses. Then, another gust of wind skitters over his bare skin,promptly making him forget about his tangly ordeal as they come up to hug himself, as if to keep in his sudden shudder.

 _What is wrong with me? I never feel the cold_  


A glint at the far corner of his eye catches his attention.There, beside the upturned tube of biscuits, the steel of the dagger is reflecting off the morning light. His heart stutters, and his blood runs cold.  
  
  


_Well, it's not just you now is it?_  
  
  
  
  


"Fuck."

[]  
  
  


After the initial shock of memories from last night wear off, he slinks off in the direction of the bathroom. He remembers to draw in the curtains at the balcony, the air from outside chilly and burrowing into his skin. His hands fold over his  stomach, almost on instinct.

He hates the cold. No, he hates how he had reacted to it more.

Presently staring into the empty and rather yellowish bottom of the bathtub, he can still feel the freeze of the air lingering on his skin. Resisting the urge to cover up his stomach again, he forces his fingers to reach for the knob of the shower. At that, he shivers, the metal resonating with the cold outside, his fingers almost sticking to the scratched metal. It's only then he realizes the surroundings; or more specifically, the surrounding temperature.

Because it was freezing, and his feet were trembling on the cold tiles of the room. And to think all this while, he had not felt even a tick. Perhaps those people at the market the day before had been staring at him for wearing long pants and a thin shirt and nothing else, with his sleeves done up. When they had been doing thick clothes and scarves and coats. With his current dishevelled appearance, perhaps they were wondering how some homeless drunk had managed to get the money to buy twenty boxes of cereals and soup.

God, if he only had the time stone now.

He decides to fill in the tub for a hot bath rather than just dousing himself in a cold splash. Hoping the landlady did not lie, he turns the knob with the red on it, clockwise. At first it sputters out a few drops, before relenting the slow but steady gush of water into the tub. Steam starts to cloud the room, warmth surely filling in the gaps in the cold dry air and the tenseness in his body relaxes. A sigh escapes him, the steam sneaking under his clothes and he slumps against the side of the tub, long legs sprawled across the frosty tiles.

He takes in a deep breath. One, then two; then three. The sound of the water filling the tub like the lulling rhythm of a ticking clock. He evens his breath to it.

And unable to resist, his fingers start to press at his stomach. Softly, gently; pressing a dent into the skin, feeling for something infinitesimal small, but there, surely. He rubs the warmth of the steam onto his flat stomach, trying to soak it in. He watches the water fill, eyes half lidded and breathing to it. One hand rubbing his flat abdomen mindlessly.

Unbidden, a sudden urge of tears come clawing at him and he yanks his hand away viciously.

His nausea has gone, too miraculously. After so many days of being plagued by it, his stomach no longer shrivels and screams at him.

 

_It was never a stomach bug_

_Made sense to have disappeared after you found out_

He lets out a cold, dry chuckle.

"Was it my own imagination tormenting me then?"

_Perhaps it was your own denial_

He does not give a retort. Couldn't, because talking to no one in the middle of a cramped bathroom wouldn't had made him look more sane then he already was.

He peels off his clothes, shuddering at the onslaught of cold air biting at his nakedness. He turns off the tap and slips into the body of steamy water, it's ripples resonating into his aching muscles in pleasant and mild waves.

It is silent, so so silent. No even a telltale dripping of a leaking pipe to fill in the blanks. The sole light on the ceiling glaring brightly at him as he stared aimlessly at the ceiling, counting the cracks and dents on it; lonely. It was a concept that he was accustomed to. It had followed him like a shadow all his life, shrouding him in its darkness and limelight.  


_But you're not alone now_

_And it terrifies you, because unlike loneliness, you don't know what to do with it_

He hears himself suck in a tremulous breath and sinks all the way down into the warm water.  


Closing his eyes, he dares not to dream.  


[]  
  
  
  
  
  
  


" Thor, have you...would..could you..."

 

"Could what?"

 

"Well....I.."

His blue eyes burrow into him over the rim of his cup, golden hair plastered to his face, framing it like some lustrous portrait. He remembers his own;blackish thinnish hair clinging to a pale forehead.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


" Nothing. It's nothing."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He spreads his fingers against the candle light, it's glow sneaking through the gaps between his fingers. Highlighting it's spindly and thin build, plunging it's paleness into the dimness of the room.

Pale, he was so pale.

Thor's fingers were long and sturdy, round nails at the ends. Calloused palms just the right side of rough and soft, a tribute to his battles and victories. His charms and his attractive nature, bright and shinning like Asgard herself. Like an Asgardian prince, made for the pleasant springs and summers of the land.

His palm, as he turned to observe, had no such marks. Unmarked, white like marble. The ends of his fingers were less round, more sharp; his nails growing towards a sharp tip. Almost effeminate in it's curves and lines.His eyes narrow in dissatisfaction, then, a sigh; wrought with something akin to resignation.

"I'm such an idiot."

____________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


                     

 _Hmmmm I've_ _got a crush on someone-_

 

                                                                         _guess who?_  
  


[]  
  


He is a little, just a little, relieved of himself that in the midst of his sickness, he still had some sense to buy things that are not all food. After submerging completely in the water and holding his breath as long as he could, he decided his hair was long due for a thorough scrub.

He flicks his hand, once, twice. Trying to summon that flicker of green to his hand, so that the bottles of shampoo misplaced somewhere in the midst of the place would materialize in his hands.

Thrice, he flicks his hand. Nothing.

Gritting his teeth, he sits up from his redundant position. His hair wet and heavy, clings and hangs off his shoulders. He bats it away to his back. Closing his eyes, he focuses again.

It works, but barely. There are weak stutters of light, then slowly, as if he was a child who had just begun to practice magic, the bottle appeared, disappeared, then reappeared; unable to take on solid form. Biting back the curses on his tongue, his forehead scrunches as he puts more focus than needed to be into this one simple task.

The bottle do finnaly materialize, but not on his fingers. Instead, it had landed right on his head, then proceeding to slide across the floor.

" F-"

_Little ears are about_

He manages to bite his tongue in time and it had hurt, making him want to curse some more. But he didn't.

He stretches out over the rim of the tub to reach for the bottle, careful to not twist his abdomen in the process. But the bottle had slid too far, and twisting his body further made him, or at least induced the sense of nauseousness in him. It could possibly hurt...it.

_What a caring mother you already are_

"Be quiet. Just be quiet."

Getting out of the tub, he grabbed the bottle and gingerly sat himself back in, careful to lessen any abdominal movement. Silently and gritting his teeth, he goes to work scrubbing himself and untangling his oily mess of an excuse for hair.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


[]  
  
  


She would buy us winter clothes, though the three of us had never needed it. It helped erase any doubts that we were any different than the others, nor let them suspect we were meant to be born on a cold planet of some distant star.

It was heavy, thick and sometimes too overly warm. She wouldn't even let us loose a stuffy scarf, not even in the middle of autumn, or early spring for that matter. Everyone was wearing it and for everyone's sake, we did as well.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But between the three of us, we knew that she never once liked the scarfs.

[]  
  
  
  


He realized that he had not purchased a brush and that his hair would dry to become inevitably tangled again.

He could use his magic, sure. But he decided against wasting any more of it, now that he knew what he had left was very, very limited.

"No thanks to you." He whispered as he dared a gaze at his abdomen. He felt nothing as he stared at it, for now. And he was glad for that little reprieve his emotions and mind has granted him.

Dressed in some dry clothes he first wore when he first arrived, he sat himself down in front of the wooden dressing table, the small mirror a little stained from use. He stared at it's reflection.

He looked...old. Tired. As if the reflection staring back at him was as foreign and unexpected as the little thing sucking all his magic from him. He swore that it was merely a decade ago when his hair was still cut short, when he was still riding his steed and stupidly chasing Th-

"I'm such an idiot." He was sure he repeated this many times back in those days. What was true before was no less true now. _I use to call him an oaf, while simultaneously knowing I was an idiot of equal measure._

"Of all things to be stupid in, this is what I let my stupidity cause me."

_It's not the right word_

 

_You weren't stupid, you were in lo-_

Does it matter? No matter how it's phrased, one word is still completely equal to the other. In the way he fought to be to Thor in his youth, and could not be. This stupidity that was just another word for his misbegotten childhood, spent chasing down a daydream that could never be his. He was just too stupid to see it for what it was, until it was too late. And it had destroyed him, in the end.

_Even now，I'm still falling down the rabbit hole_

 

 _The grave that I dug for myself so willingly_  


His heart gives a lurch and tears start to pour from his eyes. He clasps his hand in front of his face, unable to stop the burst of miserable and unwanted emotion. Sobbing uglily in the barren loneliness of the small room.

_What am I going to do?_

He collapses onto the dressing table, still wet hair sprawled messily across the wooden surface, body convulsing lightly with his echoing sobs and tears. His fingers running over his face like agitated spiders, manic energy running through them. His mind wrought with a thousand thoughts and each one more dreary that the last. And the one question screaming at him for some closure.

_What am I going to do?_

For the first time in a thousands years, he had no plan, no schemes. No lies or words to flatter to get him out of this one. At least with Thanos, he had anticipated his demise.

He lets out a wet chuckle.

"I'm completely bamboozled by my own unborn child."  
  
  


_Way to go Loki_

His hands steal down to his abdomen. This time, he does not yank it away and lets the rubbing circles on skin calm him.

Perhaps it's the size of a pea now.  Or it's just a mass of undefined cells with no distinguishable features. He wouldn't know, he didn't even know how far along he is. If the child was completely Asgardian, or Jotun; or both.

Even if it was any of these three, that wouldn't make more knowledgeable about anything. He had no experience in Asgardian pregnancies, no inkling as to the basics of it and wishes he had asked Frigga. If the child was Jotun, well that would be even worse as he spent his whole life masquerading as an Asgardian and knew nothing about his heritage. He hadn't wanted to. For once, his magic is failing him in finding answers. And he was left in his helplessness, almost human.  
  
  
  
  


If the child was both, it would be....much much more worse.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_There would be someone like you_

The thought catches him by surprise and he lifts his face from his hands, the mirror's cold reflection staring back at him. He has forgotten about the cold in the midst of his thoughts again, and his breaths fog up the surface of the plane mirror.

The landlady had said there was a....heater right?

No, she hadn't. But he figured it was implied.

Making a decision then, he pulls out his coat from the old wardrobe at the side, dusting it down a bit before hanging his towel on the mirror, for now, and exits the room. He packs up the cans and tins that fell out from the bags on the table before proceeding to deposit them in the fridge, as much as the little fridge could hold. He puts the rest besides the sink and throws the expired can into the bin.

Carefully, he bends down to sweep up the crumbs on the floor and picks up the tube of  biscuits, placing it on the tabletop.

He spots the heater a little later on, a flat slab of plastic and metal attached to the wall beside the television. It's look old and rusty bit he suppose it'll have to do. Its starts with a rumbling,wobbling sound, the sound of creaking old motors coming to life, then the the little light on the the left flicks on.

He puts on the coat and remembers to pick up the house key before going out and shutting the door.

[]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


" I got a little present for you darling."  


" What is it mother?"  


" Close your eyes dear."

Frigga's hands come to close, gently, around his eyes. Her fingers tickling him when he attempts to peek through the gaps between her rose smelling fingers. He giggles.  


" No peeking dear."

He follows her lead, her footsteps behind him guiding him along the way as she nudges him onward.

" Look." She removes her hand from his face and grants his eyes the permission to look.

" It's a piano darling."

" But why?"

She lifts him up as she sits them both on the piano seat. His fingers reaching out to touch the keys randomly, producing a jumble of mismatched melodies.

"Well," Her soothing voice reads. " Your brother's birthday is coming up in a few weeks."

"Yes, there would a big banquet. He told me all about it." He remarks, rather sulkily. Frigga laughs.

"Did he now?" She gently pries his fingers away from the keys. Then, holding one of them, she proceeds to play the keys. A soft melody fills the spacious room.

"You have such a talent darling. I was thinking you could use your talent to give your brother a present for his birthday." She says, still holding his finger and playing the melody.

"By playing for him?"

Frigga closes her eyes as she continues to play on the keys, one hand wrapped warmly around him.

"Yes."

"But I don't know how to play Mother."

"Well I'll teach you."

She stops playing and the room returns to relative silence. Outside the balcony, there are the chirping of the spring sparrows to be heard. Her hands come up to soothe over his hair.  
  


"Would you like that?"  
  


A pair of spring sparrows can be seen, flying and dancing around each other out on the balcony and in the midday sun.  
  
  
  


"I would like that."

[]  


The roads were bustling with activity, well with as much activity as a moderate town could have. People all dressed in their coats up and about and minding their own way through the streets alive with the pitter patter of booted feet.

He follows the masses down into the subway. The air musty with a scent of frost matching the dampness of the place.

"I need to find where the library is."

Wandering around lets him spot a small corner where the information centre is. The booth is empty with a sign 'indisposed' plastered onto the mirror screen. The inside dark and dank; musty even. He supposes it has been indisposed for a rather long time.

He ends up picking up one of the tourist brochures, complete with a map, along with all the stations and trains and schedules. He tucks it in his pocket.

There is only silence as each individual waits for the train; each caught in their own lives and the burdens that come with it. He stands at the far corner and tucks the collar of the coat closer to his face, breathing out clouds of vapour from his nose. His hair hasn't dried out completely yet. It feels cold against his skin.  
The train arrives with an announcement and people flow in and out, he along with them. On the train, it's is as silent as ever, only the occasional squeek of a child's voice to be heard.

He gets out where he supposed to and looking at the map again, he memorizes the road to the library. Along the way, little flecks of snow start to fall from the sky.

A brisk fifteen minute walk brings him to the doors of the library and he feels how the warm air inside sneaks into his clothes. He breathes a breath, a bit lighter, a bit easier.  
Finding his way up the stairs, he takes measure to avoid others. He heads for the science section, which he supposes would give him a start. He rummages around a little, before finding what he wants in the back corner of the floor, a bit darker than the rest. He looks around to check for people. None.

He picks out a few books after flipping through them.  
Their titles printed out in bold ink such as " Your Baby  and You" and "Pregnancy 101" and one beneath the two books " Reproduction in placental mammals".

He didn't know which one made him more flustered than the rest. Or the fact that he was a man by appearance  handling maternity reference books, seeking to find an quiet corner to start reading through them.

_Both. It's both_

He sits down on one of the reading corners, not far from the shelf where he had found his query. It was surrounded by shelves and he felt at least, a bit more hidden than the rest of the reading corners. Through the gaps of the book shelves, he could see on old woman passing by as she pushes a trolley in front of her.

Settling down and not before sucking in a nervous breath, he places "Pregnancy 101" in front of him.  
  


_Let's get going shall we?_  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Ok, ok."  
  


He clenches and unclenches his hand.  
  
  


"Let's....let's get started shall we?"  
  


He lifts the cover from the book,greeted by it's introductory preface on the page.  
  


[]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The others have all gathered in the hall for the feast. He excused himself early, waving to Frigga as he slauntered off to his chambers. She hadn't even tried to stop him, merely giving him a knowing smile and returning to the festivities.

He removes his boots as soon as he shut the door to his chambers, shedding his leathers as he went. He was left only in a green tunic and leggings when he entered his study.

He had planned to finish reading some of his books that day, one that Frigga had been particularly enthusiastic about. But it was late, and he was not in one of  his late reading moods.

Instead, he turns to the piano,sitting in the middle of the room.

_It's been a long while since I had last played._

He settles himself down on the couch of the seat, fingers lightly the keys with some soft reverence. Putting both his hands on the it, he lets his finger play on their own accord.

_Hmmmmm I've got a crush on someone-_

The melody flows through him as natural as his breath. His hands nimbly leaping from one key to another, soothing and lulling. The words of the song coming unbidden to his lips.

_All the day and night time hear me sigh_

_I never had the least notion that_

_I could fall with so much emotion_

_How glad a million laddies from millionaires to caddies_

_Would be to capture me_

_But you had such persistence, you wore down my resistance_

_I fell and it was swell_  


_The world will pardon my mush_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


               _'Cause I've got a crush my baby on you_  
  
  
  
  


___________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Did you ever remember that he could play?_  


[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've Got A Crush On You" by Ella Fitzgerald
> 
> It's on Spotify and it's a great song :D
> 
>  
> 
> Also also, after some research, I did find in fact that there is a library in Tonsberg, and it's hecka pretty!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another Thor chapter.
> 
> So a heads up first before reading. I mix some dialogue in with actual lyrics of a song. So I recommend skimming over the song's lyrics or listening to it first so it won't be too confusing. It's Won't you come home Bill Bailey by Ella Fitzgerald.
> 
> And as always, there are heavy references to the fourth chapter. If you didn't read it then I think it gonna be more confusing than I hope it isn't.🤪 Sorry, really sorry about it if it is.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S I recommend listening to the song while reading it as my writing surely cannot convey the kind of atmosphere as the song can in the story.🤓

[]

It's ending like any other day. The sun had just begun to set and the sky is turning from bright blue to a dreamy orange. Asgard and it's golden spirals set alight with a warm glow.

He's settling down for dinner it seems, though he doesn't remember doing it. He can see the servants darting to and fro with bowls and plates balanced on their hands before placing them gingerly on the table. Soon, the long table is filled with full bowls and plates.

"Looks like dinner's almost ready." He hears Frigga says, somewhere to his left. He tries to turn to look at her but his body refuses, as if he was completely glued to his seat. He can hear the door opening and see the servants scuttling to form a line, heads bowing down.

"Ah, your father is here."

It would seem so. But he cannot see anything at the far end of the table. Behind the long, tall golden carved chair a merry fire burns in it's grand fireplace. However, the Allfather's chair is cast in shadow. A sense of uneasiness creeps up on him.

"Alright,dinner's almost ready." He can hear his mother pulling up a seat beside him, but he can't see her.  
  
  
  
  


" Oh, Thor,"  
  


"Where's your brother?"  
  


_Thud_   
  


The table is suddenly stretching longer and longer in front of him, the fireplace at the end taller and taller; the fire licking at the shadows with it's talon like flames. The golden carved chair looks as if it was melting, solid gold oozing into a slimy black. The whole world seems to stutter and shake, a strange static sound ringing in his ears, along with the rapid beating of his heart. _Thud, thud, thud._

"Have you seen your brother Thor?"

Frigga's voice is steadily distorting, so is the whole place. A heaviness growing in his head, pressing down into his lungs and making him gasp for breath; his whole body shaking in terrible pain. _Thud, thud, thud._

"Where is your brother Thor?"

The fire has turned purple, giant as it looms above the table, casting the room in deep, dark, sharp shadows. The static sound had grown louder, encompassing the whole of the room; in his head, rattling through his bones. He thinks he can hear screams. _Thud, thud, thud._

"Where is he?"  
  


The screams are getting louder.  
  


"Where is your brother?"  
  


Something, something is choking up his lungs and making him shake. His lifts up his hands in front of him, both of them trembling uncontrollably. They are tainted red with hot, slick blood.

_Snap.Snap.Snap._   
  


"Where is he Thor?"

His lungs give out in a great big lurch and he blacks out. The last thing he can grasp his bloody fingers and the screaming of a hundred voices being burned alive.

And his mother's voice, asking; accusing.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_"Where is ~~Loki?"~~_   
  


___________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Ah, you've been away too long_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_So, Bill Bailey, won't you come on home?_   
  


[]  
  


   

The metal ceiling of his room greets him as his eyes open with a start, beads of sweat clinging to the skin of his eyelids. He sits himself up in a flurry, a stream of images flashing through his head with a myriad of whispering voices. He lifts up his hands.

They shake uncontrollably, his fingers trembling in some strong, unknown emotion. He vaguely remembers red coating his quaking digits, a memory too fleeting to grasp.

He clenches and unclenches them, the shaking finally receding after a few tries.

The thought of sleeping briefly comes to him for a moment, but something tells him not to close his eyes.

He slips his shoes back on, tying his oily hair up in a bun. He shuffles to the door, the hinges creaking as the cold, sterile air of the cockpit outside greets his sweaty skin. It's quiet, dead quiet.

Out into the main area, he checks the clock. It's shows 5 to 3 in the early morning. He taps on the display of the holographic screen, turning on the lights to a dim setting. The sweat on his skin cold and drying.

He knows he won't get anymore sleep tonight.

He decides to get himself some grub and a good old drink. He could do with a premature breakfast, in any case. Though Rocket would object washing down dried, vacuum packaged meat loafs with alcohol for breakfast. Especially one taken in the middle of the night.  
  


_"You'll rot your kidneys Thor."_

He grabs three packets of the prepackaged meal from the little fridge. He rifles around a bit for the beer, finally finding one of them in a steel drawer, tucked beside some of Quill's beloved cassette tapes and a box still wrapped in torn wrapping paper. A ribbon coiled beside a folded letter,creased from frequent handling. Thor is careful when taking out the bottle, it's metal surface chilled from the air of the cockpit.

He remembers seeing Quill reading it after another failed chase of a lead of his green lover, his eyes gleaming in the low light; fingers caressing the paper with soft fondness.

"It's his mother's letter." Drax says softly. Thor's heart clenches and he leaves the scene soon after, unable to bear the heaviness of his heart at that moment.

Perhaps Rocket had hid it there for a reason, thinking that even Thor wouldn't dare intrude on such beloved a last gift all for the purpose of getting a swig.  
  


_I'm a miserable arse, is what I am._   
  


He pulls out the bottle before carefully, carefully shifting things back into place. He pushes close the metal drawer and gets up from all of the kneeling on the floor.

Maybe Rocket had just put it there because he knew how low he would have to stoop to get it.

_Literally._

He grabs all the stuff and proceeds to get up to the cockpit, sitting himself on an empty control chair, creaking under his weight. The glass pane of the ship's front stretched out before, as so the darkness of the space blotched with a few drops of yellowy stars. He peels open the package, it's cold contents tasteless in his mouth. He downs it down with the familiar bitterness of cheap liquor.

He reclines the seat, letting his eyes drift directly to the inky blackness of space. He stares motionlessly for a while.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Now, everybody, twist it_   
  


_I say, everybody, twist it_   
  


A distant muted voice of a woman singing breaks his the train of his thoughts. His eyes flickering from space to the side. The song goes on playing with a static buzz fraying the edge of the woman's jovial voice.  
  


_So, Bailey, please, come home, no more to roam_

  
He can hear some distant sound of applause in the background and he cranes his head back to look. The cockpit below is still in dim lights, just as he had left it.  
  


_As Miss Della Reese might say_   
  


_Won't you come home, Bill Bailey?_   
  


He wonders if he has awaken anyone, preferably Quill. He greatly favours all his midgardian songs and plays them whenever he gets the chance. In the middle of the night though? He hasn't been with the Guardians long enough to find out.  
  


_And as Miss Pearl Bailey might say_   
  


_Bill, honey, daddy, you'd better bring it on home_

He leaves the bottle and his unfinished meal behind, climbing down the ladder back to the main area again. Yet all is dark and quiet, the only soul awake on the ship him. The holographic display of the screen casting his face in a blue glow in the dim setting of the lights. The song here plays louder, clearer. Suddenly, he is sure that this is not a song of Quill's.  
  


 _So easy to forget, those little things._  A voice whispers in his ears. He turns his head abruptly.

Just then, he catches a wisp, a shadow of something flashing by. Cast in black completely, leaving behind the pitter patter of running feet into the darkness of the corridor. The song keeps on playing, the woman's voice striking the uneasiness in his beating heart.

The little pitter patter of feet, the sound of a child running.

His heart beats a bit faster in his ears. He follows the phantom into the corridor, leading past the doors to the other guardian's rooms. The song is getting even louder as he approaches the end of the corridor.This time, the woman sings loud and clear in tandem with the melody of the song.  
  


_Since you've been gone, there's no stopping_   
  


_To this thing they call bee-bopping_   
  
  


At the end of the corridor, is the source of the loud music, pouring out from the crack of a door; his bedroom door. _Thud,Thud,Thud,_ his heart beats. He would, as he had of most recent things, leave it as it is to fester, but there's no valid reason for a 1500 year old god to be afraid of the darkness of his own bedroom. The sense of uneasiness stays though, growing as he approaches it.  
  


_You may play this song all your life_   
  


The door creaks open, the music flowing out completely, loud and clear; static and all. The voice of the woman clear and sweet, singing to the ever changing notes of the music perfectly, save for the static that strikes her vocals.

I know this song.

Do I?

_So easy to forget_

_Those little things_

The black box sits beside his messy bed, blacker than the darkness of his room. The play button is pressed on, the woman's voice broadcasted from it. _Thud, Thud,Thud._  
  


_Snap.Snap.Snap._   
  


_You remember don't you_   
  


_He used to love them, his songs_   
  


His fingers start to shake uncontrollably, a rain of sweat falling down his forehead, clinging at his brows. His heart beats painfully in his chest erratically, making it hard to breathe. He lifts his hands in front, a desperate attempt at reigning in his terrible emotions. They shake as if he was struck by lighting.  
  
  
  
  
  


_So, Bailey, please, come on home_   
  


A pair of hands close over his eyes, and the world goes black.  
  


The woman's voice still singing her heart away, he can almost see her dancing to the song; pale fingers dancing lightly over white keys.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Come home_

[]  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The sound of the gentle crash of the waves onto the beach seeps through the fuzziness in his head. The salty sea breeze against his cheeks, prompts his eyes to open. The glare of the afternoon sun greets his barely focused eyes.

He laying on a table, out on the beach. His hair sprawled over the marble surface with sand stuck in them. He shakes it with his fingers as he sits himself upright. The empty silverware on the table, like his hair, dusted and filled with sands blown from the sea breeze. The table is barren; some chairs turned over. A big one at the far end of the table with dirtied red cushions stating back at him, an empty chalice by it's side,fallen.

His heads pounds something awful.

"What happened?"

"How did I get here?"

His hands come to rub circles on either side of his, trying to alleviate his fuzzy head and find an answer in his memory.

_Can't remember_

_Can't remember nowadays_

 

"Why can't I remember?"  
  
  


Then, there; at the corner of his eye, at the far edge of the shore with the cliffs stretched overhead, he can see a boy. Black hair and all, treading softly in the sands. Some sort of giddiness blooms in him at the sight. A sense of strange yet close.... familiarity?

He gets up so abruptly that his chair topples backward into the sand.

"Wait!"

Leaping to his feet, he races towards the direction who had almost disappeared behind the grey cliffs. Some stumbling and knocking both of his legs together, he runs albeit most ungracefully towards the boy. The sands shifting beneath his feet like water.

"Wait!"

"Come back!"

As he runs round the cliffs, the boy is nowhere to be seen. The soft sand of the beach all but gone here, leaving more crackly and hard black pebbles lining the rest of the shoreline. The cliffs loom above him.

"Where did he go?"  
  
  
  
  
  


_Over here_

His eyes drift towards the little tide pools, with large black boulders rising like little round huts enclosing them. The waves here crash a bit harder onto the rocks then they did on the sandy beach, the sun's glare a bit dimmer.

_Over here_

He climbs over the rocks, feet landing in the little pools of water in the cracks of the rocks. The small fish and shelled creatures scuttling over his toes as he disturbs their little home. He gets a little bit wet in the process, sprays from the cold water wetting his clothes. Once, he slips and scratches his hand against the rough surface of the ground. He groans.

Which brings him face to face with an opening between the high cliff rocks. The wind howling inside it, the echoing sound of dripping water from within it's walls. Whispers coming from inside, surrounding him. _Over here_  
  


He gets back up on his feet and proceeds towards the mouth of the opening, the wispy voices of phantom whispers beckoning him. He looks up at the cliffs as he enters, craning his head up towards them and thinks that the cliffs look a bit grey; like the faded colour of worn parchment being kept and forgotten for millennia. They soon disappear as the darkness of the cave envelops him completely. His footsteps echo in the dark, his hands touching lightly the wet walls of the cave as he fumbles his ways through the dank blackness of the cave. A soft wind whistling its way in the space of the cave. Somewhere, a little stream that leads to the sea must flow here. The trickling and dripping of water giving voice to it's existence.

_Over here_

Just in front of him, a gap in the ceiling of the cave had broken, shining down a halo of light onto the wet ground, bringing the black surroundings of the cave to light.

And a door, wooden; damp. Like that of a cabin's. Looking at home being fitted between the jagged rocks of the cave wall. _Over here_  
  


"Why is there a door?"  
  


_Over here_

 

He stares at it, regarding it with doubt. That sense of giddiness however, tells him to find the boy. The whispers getting stronger as he stands there longer.

Then all of a sudden, the whispers stop as he walks into that circle of light. Leaving him alone with drip drip of water falling down from cave walls. The whistling of the chilly wind. He moves closer to the door.  
  
Face to face with it, he can make out words painted on it. In blood red paint, peeling off the wood.

_Easy to forget_

He grabs the wet rusted doorknob, merely holding the cold metal in his fingers. He hear his breaths echoing in the cave. The beat of his heart. The words on the door heavy on his mind.

_Those little things_

He twists the doorknob and the hinges creak as the door opens.  
  
  


[]  
  
  


Warm air seeps into wet clothes as the other side of the door is revealed to him.

The marble floor feels warm, the warmth one feels from being exposed to sunlight for a period of time. High windows that stretch upwards into the ceiling, the golden trimmed curtains letting in only a few rays of sun. The walls with murals painted on them, moving. It's doesn't take him long to figure out it's the  Asgardian palace with it's furniture and grand pictures and paintings.His home.

The place is empty though, void of it's usual bustle of guards and servants. Chattering nobles and gossiping ladies. Lone candles light the hallway in the absence of natural light, blocked out by the massive curtains.  
He pulls them open.

The  windows showcases the sea outside, calm and endlessly blue lining the entire stretch of the observable horizon. No shore, no beach. As if the entire palace itself was built in the middle of the sea, afternoon sun blazing above it.

He runs back towards the wooden door, turning the knob. It is irreversibly locked. No matter how hard he yanks at it. He doesn't even remember closing it.

Sighing, he leaves the door behind and ventures down the hall. Looking at the empty armor standing guard against the painted walls, metal gleam shining off of the midday sun. The sound of the sea outside unable to drown out the sound of his footsteps against the marble floors. Looking at the wall on his right, there is nothing but the usual moving murals that Asgard was infamous for; gods and goddesses captured in a moment of glorious battle with their names inscribed beneath their moving bodies. There are no doors. He wonders about the boy he saw. The candles barely flickering as he walks past them.  
  


His steps are halted when he comes to the end of the hallway. Another wooden door, like that of the first one in that strange cave, set lonely against the wall; the wall that had transformed from the intricate painted murals on Asgardian plaster to the grey, old parchment-like cliffs of the beach.

On it, from the bottom of the floor to the top of the ceiling, three figures painted in Asgardian fashion.  
Odin with one stern eye and his Ravens, one perched on Gungir and one on his gold-armored shoulders; Frigga, red brown hair cascading down her shoulders unto her back. Her kind chestnut eyes frozen in an instance of time, along with her painted smile.Her hands lay rest upon the shoulders of a young boy. All gold hair and sky-blue eyes. Beneath him, inscribed perfectly in neat runes, reads:

_Thor Odinson_

_Firstborn to Asgard_

Just then, the door creaks and his eyes flick from the strange mural to the door. Opened slightly to reveal a pouring out of light from behind. He steps into the room, encased by blinding light.

His feet fall on what feels like water, what sounds like water. Each footfall making a splash like that of feet stepping into a puddle. Straining his eyes to look, the blurry shape of something comes into his sight.

A cradle, in the midst of nothing else in the middle of the bright light. Thor walks towards it.

There's no one in the cradle, no babe or person; only a paper folded bud of a green flower, laid on top of soft white sheets.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_"What is it mother?"_   
  


_"It's not a it dear. It's a he."_   
  


_"He?"_   
  
  
  
  


_"So I should call him he?"_   
  


_Frigga chuckles." Well, you could. Though I would very much prefer you to call him your brother from now on."_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_"Where did he come from mother?"_   
  


_There's the sound of a baby hiccuping. " Well your father gave him to me."_   
  


_"Did he give you me too?"_   
  


_Frigga laughs._   
  


_"Yes, your father gave me both of my darlings."_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_"What's his name mother?"_   
  
  
  
  
  
  


_" Well, what do you think about L-"_   
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Landing."

Rocket's voice is shrill and high pitched in his ears. He doesn't voice a reply. However, he does manage a groan when Rocket kicks him in the gut.

"I said we're landing in Xandar. Docking, whatever."

"What?"

"Xandar. You know planet....like...a...planet."

Thor chuckles through the hammer pounding in his head. "Nicely put." His chuckle is quickly cut off by another kick to gut. He wheezes.

"We're arriving in 15. So get up and make yourself presentable."

The floor feels hard and cold against his cheek whick sticks to it. Really hard. He is sure that a red burn is left on it when he finally peels himself away from the cold floor. His hands come over his damaged cheek to knead circles over it.

"How did I end up on the floor?"

In the doorway, Rocket shrugs.

"Beats me. Drax told me he remembered a collosal thud in the middle of the night. Your fat ass might had just fallen off the bed, since it's not broken."

"I...fell?"

"Don't you remember?"

He pauses, still seated on the the floor. _I think I do, but it's of something else._

He is a bit shocked at that bit.  
  


"I was...in another place."  
  


"Like being black out drunk?"  
  
  


Rocket holds out the bottle of beer in his paws, furry face scrunched in admonishment.  
  
  


"I didn't even know you knew that drawer existed."  
  


" I'm more clever than you give me credit for."  
  


Rocket crosses his furry arms. One lighter coloured eyebrow lifted up on his forehead.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


" I'll take my chances."

[]  
  
  
  


Xandar has seen better days and true to his own words, had been completely decimated by Thanos.

There's a lot of construction work going on, high buildings slowly coming to line the horizon again. It's slow and arduous, like rebuilding everything from dust is. And he should know, even if he never had the chance.

They were following another lead again. Some rumour about a scuffle between one Gamora and the Nova corp. Quill mentioned that he knew one of them and decided to find and question him. Drax and Rocket tagged along. Nothing they could do could coax Groot from his game so he was left in charge of the ship.

Mantis had been quite eager to see Xandar, since the Guardians had never previously been there since Ronan. Which leaves Thor to "handle" or as Rocket puts it,  babysit her. He doesn't know if it's a completely sound idea. Nor is he sure if Mantis is completely fine about the idea either.

But as they walk through the street together, watching the construction work and the flow of alien life, he thinks it may too late for second thoughts.

They walk for a while, watching the sunset in the distance shadowing all the left rubble and repair work machines. Mantis never stops with her innocent quips, which he really doesn't know how to answer  
either. She acts as if nothing have happened between them. Thor is grateful for that.

They settle in a bar when night falls. Drax had contacted them and mentioned about delays and that it may take a few more hours to find and sit down to talk with the guy. The Nova Corp had to work overtime all day since Thanos's universe wide crusade and rules had loosened since the Corp was stretched thin all throughout the galaxy. Which explains why no one stopped him from dragging Stormbreaker into the bar. In fact, he could see some other shady figures lurking around the bar, so best that he brought a weapon.

They sit in the front of bar, away from the back stages where private dances occur. He couldn't stomach seeing a strip, even though when he was young Fandral and him had been the major stars of Asgard's brothels. The thought of scantily clad women hovering all over him now makes his guts churn more than shitty alcohol ever did. Besides, he wouldn't want to have Mantis traumatized. Rocket would be extremely displeased.

He's going about his third shot when Mantis is still sipping her cup of orange juice. Eyes darting to and fro as her antennas glow curiously. He sincerely hopes that she's not attempting to read any one of the people in the bar, lest she wants know about some pevert's vivid fantasy about banging an alien cun-

"I think she likes you." Mantis smiles. Thor breaks off from his train of thoughts. "Who?"

Mantis jerks her chin to someone behind him. Thor turns his head sideways to look.

A pale woman, wearing a black dress that hugs all her scanty curves stares at him through her curtain of black hair. Another man is beside her, his high pitched voice laughing with others, hand wrung around her small waist. Her eyes gleam green in the lights of the bar as she smiles. In the past, he would've given his most handsome smile back at her.

Now, the sight of those pretty green eyes make him sick and full with dread. And horrible, horrible guilt that he doesn't know where to place, or from whence it came. Pushing down the urge to just puke all over the table, he looks back at Mantis.

"I'm sure she doesn't."Mantis tilts her head.

"She's smiling at you, even if her lover is beside her."

"They don't love each other."

"Then isn't it good that she loves you?" Thor chuckles, looking at the shot glass in his hands.  
  
  


"People like her, they don't love anyone." He says as he turns the glass. The liquid contents inside reflecting his face in the purple lights of the bar.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"They only love themselves."

[]  
  
  


Rocket calls on them to check on Groot back on the ship. Change of plans, he muttered through the communicator, they'll have to spend the night here and nab the guy first thing in the morning.

Mantis retires to bed early, saying her thank you to him for taking her around the city and that drink.  
He gives her an awkward smile and a you're welcome, wishing that he felt something when he said it. Groot is still playing his game away outside and Thor knows better than to try to tell him off it. So, he goes to his room. Sitting on his bed and peeling off his boots.

He turns to the table beside the bed. Black box sitting all but innocently on it.  That sense of dread comes back to him; a sense of giddiness following in tow.  
His memories of last night were foggy but his mind aches. Aches for answers he doesn't even know the questions to. Or maybe he had just forgotten.

Forgotten something important, and that it fills him with bottomless guilt and restless nights for the past five years; a phantom, lurking in the shadows. With him always even if he doesn't choose to acknowledge it.

His fingers caress the edge of the box softly, light pressure on the play button.

He clicks it.  
  


Static.  
  


Static.  
  
  


" _Thi-ugee-ves-under-assaul-peat-unde-life-su-ng-_ "

His headache worsens tenfold at the sound, a sledgehammer and a drill drilling a hole into his skull. His heart beat erratic; his hands shaking. He wants to scream in pain.  
  


" _Life su-iling. Requesting aid fro-I repeat this is-war-essel- families-aid-fro-un-_ "

The pain grows so great that it starts to ring in his ears. He pressed his palms against, willing himself to be deaf to the sound. _Let it pass, please let it pass_  
  


" _I repeat- not-craft-_ "  
  
  


" _aid-ort fai-ygen leve-fallin-you-you-y-ai-_ "  
  
  


" _Requesting-nearb-Yes, I said_ "  
  
  


 _"Won't you come, won't you come?_ "  
  


The heaviness in his head is gone, lifting up like hot air balloon at the woman's voice. It feels as if he was as light as a feather, the image of the room slowly blotching out in spots of black.  
  


_So, Bailey, please, come on home_   
  


The room tilts and he falls onto the bed; and keeps falling.

________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He opens his eyes.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one of the reason I use jazz, 1930s to 40s jazz and Ella Fitzgerald specifically is because the kinda atmosphere it exudes. 
> 
> The happy, slow swing as if nothing is wrong in the world; but when applied in another scenario it can kinda be ominous, as if implying something. And Ella's voice also conveys so much soul. It's soooo good.
> 
> Also for some other reasons that would be mentioned in later chapters. : D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update.T-T

                                                                  _November 30_

_Things to do_   
  


_Clean up spare room_

[]

He proceeds to the cramped laundry area at the back to find some cleaning tools. An old broom rests against the the washing machine, with the dustpan by its side. A duster almost bald of its feathers and some dirty cloths placed in a small wooden cupboard, no higher than his hips. He tucks the cloth under his arm and grabs the rest with him.

Choosing the room closest to his, he unlocks it with the keys. The heavy musk of thick dust tingling his nose as he lets in some air into the room for what must have been quite a while. He swipes a finger against the grey wall, a creamy layer of dust latching onto his finger, black as soot. He looks to the rest of  
room, dust particles floating in the air. He sighs.

He supposes he has a lot of work to do.

He drags open the curtains first to let in some light. He'll have to wash them too. The room looks less grey and sad with the curtains open. He can see the quaint playground of the apartment complex below, complete with a small slide and swings and a rickety seesaw. Little bits of frost covering the metal chain of the swing.

He looks back to the room, looking as cheerful as the empty playground below.

He gets to work.

_________  
  


Sweeping up the room makes him sneeze more than a few times. His nose becoming irritated and snot blocking it up as a result. He would empty the dustpan into the bin out in the kitchen then come back again for another round. After a few times of this, he swipes his finger against the floor, the digit looking pale in his eyes. Having done a decent job of sweeping, he takes the dirty cloths with him to the bathroom, filing up a red pail and soaking them up with it.

Carrying them to the room again, he sets the bucket on the newly sweeped floor. Giving the cloth a few good squeezes to remove any excess water, he starts to wipe the entire expense of the bedroom, crouching on his knees as he does so. Sweat falling from his brow as he continuously scrubs the bedroom floor and wall. The water in the bucket soon turning greyish from all the dust. To his dismay, a few stains in the wall refuse to go away, no matter how vigorously he scrubs against it. He plops the cloth back into the pail with no small amount of frustration, sitting back flat on his bum on the floor. Tipping his head back to clear his clogged nose.

_Wiping the floors would've been easier with a mop_   
  


He takes note to add it to the list later.  
  


Looking up at the ceiling, he can see strings of dust hanging from the boards. He frowns.  
  


He takes up the broom again, remembering to cover his nose as he starts to sweep up the dusty ceiling.  
  
  
  
  


                                                                      _November 30_

_Things to do_   
  


_Clean up spare room, mop, cleaning agent, new dustpan_

_______  
  
  
  


He remembers to take his little notebook to the library this time. Tucking it safely with a pencil he found in the dresser drawer into his coat pocket before leaving the house.

He returns to the original place he had occupied the last time he had visited. Finding the previous book he had read through again and settling down on the table in front of him. Last time, he had folded little creases on the edges of important pages on the books to remind himself later to read back again, before tucking them safely back into their respective places on the bookshelf. Flipping open "Pregnancy 101" again, he began to read through the rabbit-eared pages, taking down notes as he does so.  
  


_Nausea with or without vomiting. Morning sickness.✓ Often begins (one month)✓after you become pregnant._   
_To help relieve nausea, avoid having an empty stomach._   
_Eat slowly and in small amounts every one to two hours. Choose foods that are (low in fat)✓ Drink plenty of fluids✓ Foods containing (ginger)✓(Motion sickness band)?_   
_Fiber✓_   
_Fruit juices✓(Prune juice)_   
_(Iron supplements)✓_

_AVOID chocolate✓citrus fruits✓spicy and/or fried✓_

The library is silent. Empty seats and dusty shelf tops. He can hear the scribbling of his pencil on paper as he continues to take down notes diligently. Truthfully, he has no inkling if the conditions of pregnancy are all the same throughout every species. He was sure that chocolate did not even exist in other planets, much less ginger or anything else mentioned. And he was rather ashamed of thinking to look through animal encyclopedias again. He had spent his last visit scouring through much of them to come to the conclusion that no species on the planet had even a passing similarity with his Jotun biology. Not that he knew much about his own biology either. Truth is though, he knew pretty much nothing about it to find any sort of relation.

The furious scribbling of the pencil stops abruptly. Illuminated by the soft glow of the afternoon light, he looks at the slanted, messy and rushed handwriting on the paper.

_Motion sickness band_

_Who am I kidding_

He lets slip the pencil from his grasp, watch it roll across the paper and off the table. Unaware of an old lady taking a glance at him through the gaps of the bookshelves as she pushes a trolley by. He bends to pick up the pencil from the floor, the sharpened lead tip broken in half.

In the relative silence, he huffs a little laugh.  
  
  


" I feel like I'm making things up as I go along."

_______  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


                                                                      _November 30_

_Things to do_   
  


_Clean up spare room, mop, cleaning agent, new dustpan_

_Prune juice_

_Iron supplements_

_Motion sickness band_

[]

For a good chunk of his early life, he was forced to spend it sequestered in his bedroom in the palace. His health was frail and he fell prey to sickness often. His appetite was delicate; any small traces of foreign food would upset his stomach for weeks on end. During the summer, when the sky was blue and Thor and the others would go out and play, he would lay in his bed, sweating and shivering from the onslaught of a fever. Healers and palace maids constantly fretted over him. Cleaning up his shirts soaked with his vomit and changing his sweat soaked sheets. Trips to the healer's wing in the palace became so frequent that he was certain he would know the way even if he became blind.

Those memories of his sickly early childhood stayed with him. The view outside his bedroom window; Thor playing pretend with Sif and the others. Staring helplessly at the ceiling as he sweated profusely from the glaring heat of the summer. The pair of sparrows that had build a nest on the windowsill. The blandness of the porridge that he only ever allowed to eat.

  
The taste of medicine,spreading its bitter sweet taste all over his tongue.

Bottles of it were placed beside him on his bedside table, inky black and purple in the light. He would often lay in his bed with his back facing the bedside table. As if looking at it would bring back it's vomit inducing taste into his mouth.  
  
  
  
  
  


"I hate it."

"What is it?" Frigga replies, medicine bottle held delicately in her fingers as she pours the contents into a little cup. He knows the purple colour of the medicine, even if he is faced away from Frigga. Outside on the windowsill,the sparrows are busily fixing their nest.

She runs a warm hand down his hair. " It's only for a few more days darling."

"I haven't told you what it is yet."

Frigga smiles from behind him. "You won't even look at it Loki. You don't need to tell me."

He watches the sparrow settling in the nest as the other one flies off again.

"It's all I ever eat now. Porridge and...that." He tips his head away from the window and looks at his hands on the sheets. Still dreading the sight of the medicine cup in Frigga's hand.

"You'll get better in a few days Loki."

"Then I'll get sick again anyway!" He snaps, frustration from over the past week bubbling out. Frigga remains silent.  
  
  
  
  


" .....I'm sorry Mother."  
  


"I understand Loki. But if you don't take it, you won't get better any time soon darling." At that, he gives her a childish pout. Frigga smiles again at the sight of his petulance.  
 

"Tell you what. When you get better, I'll give you something."

Hearing his mother's promise, he reaches for the bowl of porridge and forces himself to gouge on it with enthusiasm.

Until Frigga extends the small cup in front of him with a knowing tilt of her naturally golden eyebrow.  
  
  


"After you take your medicine Loki."

[]  
  
  
  
  


He takes the train to the mall.

As it dragged and rumbled over the railways, he slipped out the tourist map he had from his coat pocket. Placing it on his clothed thighs, he slips out the pencil from the same pocket. Tracing the lead tip over the route on the map, dragging a black line along the route to the library and circling the red dot at the end of it. A neat,cursive _library_ written beside it.

A pause, then writes:

 _1.80_  beside it.

The frayed voice of announcer shakes the relative silence of the train car he is in. As other passengers start to wake from their doze or to start keeping their phones and laptops away, he folds the map along some well forming lines where the paper had been folded before. A child tugges at the sleeves of his mother's coat as he drags his mother to the door, obviously wanting to be out of the train as soon as possible.  As the train stutters to a stop, the child and woman scramble out first, followed by others in their damp coats. He walks out last.

Outside, he can smell the oncoming frost that will drizzle down from the skies in little time. Walking faster in the direction of the mall, the bright gaudy lights of the place just at the corner. This time, when he walks in to the mall, sober and lucid, he notes the source of the bright lights radiating from the mall that could be seen from afar.

Christmas decorations litter the entire expense of the mall. Every shop fitted with a tree adorned by ornaments of a festive colour. Red, green and blue; accompanied by songs with rhythms of bells and choirs. How he had missed this last time, one could only wonder. Picking up a shopping basket, he walks quickly away from the light, praying to the Norns that the grocery area had no sort of holiday decorations adorning every fruit or meat. The shelves were over-brimming with festive treats. Gallons of eggnog and boxes of chocolates and cookies. Most here have come to start their holiday shopping. He steers clear of most of the crowd at the holiday sale section.

At the juice isle, he finds skinny bottles of prune juice on the lower shelf. The purplish liquid swirling in the light of the shelf radiating frosty coldness to keep the products fresh. Beating against the skin of his fingers curled around the neck of the bottle. For a moment, as his natural resilience to the cold had completely faded, the pale skin at the tips of his fingers retracted.To reveal the blue skin beneath and black nails at his fingertips.

He flinches as if he was burned, the bottle tumbling back onto its place on the self. Knocking the other bottles as the sound of glass banging against each other echoed around the particular aisle. In the background, the seasonal music can be heard as it broadcasts throughout the mall.  
  
He looked on in horror as the blue spread through his hands, white marks spreading like veins until it reached his wrist. The colour stuttered, fighting to blend over the paleness of the his skin. For a moment, it seemed like it would win,until it retreated back painfully and slowly. In that moment, realising that he was standing in a public place with his nature on clear display, he shoved his hand immediately into his pocket. Eyes swiveling to the side where most of the crowd had gathered. Most of them seemed busy pushing around trollies stacked with Christmas groceries or turning around jam jars in their hands; too absorbed to notice anything else than items on their grocery lists.

Slowly, he pulls out his hand from the pocket. Swiftly swiping three or four purple bottles and throwing into the basket as he turned to walk away, quickly.

He spends a while in the mall, shifting through the aisles. He does find some iron supplements, all 15 brands in fact. Looking at each nutrient  information on the back of each bottle took too long, so he just dumped all of them into the basket. He picks out two bright blue bottles of detergent. As he was deciding which overpriced mop to pick, a couple walked past him. Which made him tense up immediately as he eyed them warily. The couple seemed engrossed in each other, the man and woman pushing a trolley in front of them as they smiled and giggled together. He notices the man's hand curved gently at her swollen abdomen. He looks on for a while,eyes lingering on the pair as his fingers still stay curled around the handle of a mop.

_Stop_

_Just..stop it_

He aggressively pulls away the mop without even looking at it, whipping his head away from the scene as fast as he could. _Anything, anything. To not have to look at that._

Walking past the kitchen appliances and tools section, noting the rows of hanging spatulas and pots and frying pans. He stops at the end of the aisle as the thought struck him.

_You can't survive on canned food and pre-packaged meals forever._

His footsteps stop, the tip of his shoe just peeking out from the aisle shelves. And then whispers,under his breath, to no one in particular.

"I can."

 

_Yes_   
  
  
  
  


_But the child cannot_   
  


Closing his eyes, he elicits a sigh. Tapping his shoes against the floor as he nods to himself.

"Alright. Fine."

Turning back the way he came, he grabs a steel pot and a frying pan, along with a ladle, a spatula and some set utensils. He figured he might as well get some plates and cups while he was at it. Seeming to remember eating out of cans and cartons for the past few weeks. With his hands, no less. He winces.

The basket becomes a little hard to carry hooked on his elbow by the time he reaches the line at the counter. Holding a carton of eggs and a bunch of bananas on the other. After checking out with cashier, he buys a grocery bag at the counter to his list. Just so he didn't need to pay the extra cents every time for a bunch of plastic bags. Proceeding to stuff everything down into the bag, with the exception of the mop which he had to carry by hand as he waited for the train to arrive. Dragging the thing all the way home and carrying it up the stairway all the way up to his apartment door. Fumbling for the keys in his pocket to open it.

A warm gust of air greets as enters the room. The heater warming up the room the entirety of the time he was gone. Out from the balcony, he can see bits of snow falling from the sky outside.

He throws his coat on the couch, but not before tossing the keys onto the coffee table. He begins to unpack all the food into the refrigerator. Filling up the slots for the eggs and putting the rest on the counter. He leaves the rest in the bag before taking the plastic wrapping off the mop to place it in the laundry area. He mentally berates himself as he opens the doors to the only three rooms in the apartment to let the warm air in.

He wonders what'll he do with the third room.

The first thought that came to him was a library. But he doesn't have the means for that now, not with everything else on his plate.

Turning on the light in his room, he settles down at the dresser as he takes the receipt from his pocket, along with the pencil and notebook.  
  
  
  


                                                                           _November 30_

_Things to do_   
  


_Clean up spare room, mop, cleaning agent, new dustpan  14.78+10.50+3.50✓_

_Prune juice -3, 25.40✓_

_Iron supplements-15, 70.00✓_

_Motion sickness band_   
  
  


 

"Damn."

He completely blanked out on that one. He'll just have to get one if the situation called for it.

 

_It's not like you have that much money to spend anyway_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_I have to find a job_

He physically winces at the thought. Another thing to worry about. For another time.  
  


Looking back at the receipt, he just wedges it between the pages of the notebook.  
  
  
  
  
  


[]  
  


"Truth or dare."

Loki looks quizzically at Thor, who has flung himself on the covers over Loki's legs.

"Truth."

"Really? Truth doesn't seem like you." He receives a well deserved smack on the head for that.

"I thought you were supposed to be sick" Loki crosses his arms against his chest as he smirks through the dull throb in his head from the receding fever, but still lingering in the shadows.

"Sick enough to spare you a smack?" He grins.

"Never."

Thor turns to lay in his back. Normally, he would've kicked the heavy boy off. But it has been sometime since Thor had come to see him since his routine summer sickness had struck. He had wished, desperately, everyday for Thor to come and see him.  
And though he was here now, he doubted that it was of his own accord. Frigga must've been involved. His mother always had an uncanny power to read him.  
  


Thor swipes the blonde hair covering his eyes to side as he thinks about a question.

"So uh, like...um..I guess...,"

Loki gazes at Thor's hair fanned out and flattened beneath him and thinks about the gentle waves on the ocean, striking gently upon soft, warm sands in the wake of a salty sea breeze and a receding tide. A field of golden wheat grass that stretches beyond the horizon, swaying with the morning wind.

"What kind of hair do you like?"

"Really? Out of all the things you could ask me, that's what you're going with?"

Thor turns his head from facing the domed ceiling of Loki's room to face him. Then out of nowhere starts to grab at his arm as he uses it to pull himself closer to Loki. Curling his arms around him as he hugs his waist firmly, face pressed against his green tunic. Loki wants to pet and run his hand through all that messed up hair with an aching feeling that throbs from deep within him. He represses a shudder.

"Well, I figured you must like _somethings_  at least."

 

 

He looks down at the boy curled around him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"On the contrary brother, I do like quite a bit of _somethings._ " He remarks quietly.

One blue eye peeks put from the folds of his green tunic.

"Like the kind of hair you like?"

Loki rolls his eyes. " Yes, I do have a preference in that area."

Thor looks up expectantly at him. For a moment, he doesn't say a word.

  
For he thinks of sweltering summers and waves of heat, of staring out from the window for what must've been hours. Looking out for the blur of blond and laughter whizzing by as it runs towards Sif or any other for that matter. He thinks of loneliness, unbearable in all its weight as he prays to whatever was out there to end this miserable cycle so he could be out there. So that he could,at least,run towards him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Blonde. I like blonde hair."

[]  
  
  


He puts off continuing to clean the room for another time.

For now, his stomach growled for attention at him. Or most probably, the babe, making sure that the mother would feed them both. He shrugs out of his clothes to change into some long sleeved shirts and pants, barely thick enough to keep out the cold completely but just enough to keep him and in turn, the baby warm enough. Plus, the heat from the heater played it's part in cozying up the place.

Prying open the lid of a can of mushroom soup with the handle of a spoon, he gives the new pot he bought a good wash before he dunks the contents in. Turning on the gas and listening to the slow sizzle of the soup being heated. Meanwhile, he deposits the frying pan on the other stove, grabbing two eggs that the refrigerator could spare no more space for from the counter.

Which makes him then realize that he's never cracked an egg before.

And unlike the soup, there were no instructions on the back to show exactly how.

Which also prompts the thought in his mind that he'll have to learn how to _really_ cook in the future. Because eggs and canned soup three times a day for the rest of their lives was not at all healthy or a decision of a responsible parent. He feels the headache start to throb at the back of his mind.

 

_One step at a time_

 

For now, he just needs to figure out how to crack an egg.

And he does, albeit clumsily. Hitting the first one against the frying pan too softly, which only gives to a little crack. Then hitting it too hardly and having the raw contents of the egg spill onto the pan with bits of  eggshell mixed in it. He fishes them out with a spoon, which takes a while. The second egg was less of a commotion, just that the yolk came out all popped and not round like he was used to seeing them. But it was edible.  
 

The soup boiled for a few minutes before he poured it all out into a bowl, which scarcely filled to the top. Shifting the slightly burned eggs onto a plate and carrying them both to be placed on the coffee table in front of the couch.

He pokes at the liquidly egg yolk with his fork. Watching it pop and leak out in a bright yellow flow.

 

 

"Bon appetit."  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Shoving the rather burned eggs onto his mouth, he turns to side to watch the slow falling outside on his balcony.

[]  
  
  



End file.
